“Are we going to their house right now?” Harrison asked from the back seat.
“No,” I said. “We’re going to pick up Josh from his piano lessons and then I’m taking you home.”
Harrison, my five-year-old son, wanted to know if we were on our way to the house of some of our dearest friends. Even though he knows Monday’s routine, he lives on the edge of hopefulness that we’ll end up going to their house instead of picking up Josh because it is in the same direction.
“They may be coming to our house on Friday,” I said to help brighten his gloom.
“Yep. It’s my birthday on Friday and I think they are coming over for cake and ice cream.”
“Yaaayyy!” Harrison, Evelyn, and Madeline cheered in unison.
Calming a bit, Harrison inquired, “How old are you?”
“Well, it’s kind of a big day for me. I’ll be 40.”
“Wow,” Madeline said sounding astonished.
“He’s fodey,” Evelyn added just to be a part of the conversation.
“Not yet, honey,” I corrected. “Not till Friday.”
“One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…,” Harrison started to count. He made it to eighteen and then ended abruptly with a sigh.
“Why’d you stop, Harry?” I asked.
“Cuz that’s a lot of numbers. Forty is old and I was getting tired.”
Happy birthday to me.