My giveaway plans were derailed today by a very important little person and his very own 2nd birthday. Little Evan is two years old today! When I giddily plucked him from his crib this morning, we snuggled up on Charlotte's bed while I sang him a Happy Birthday song. At the end of every phrase, Evan chimed in with "cake!"
Happy Birthday to you...cake!...Happy Birthday to you...cake!... Happy Birthday dear Evan...cake!...Happy Birthday to you...cake!
He knows what's important.
It took us till eveningtime to finally make good on the promise of cake with a small family birthday party. Boisterous cousins followed Evan about, patting his head and picking him up in turn. By the time cake was served, Evan couldn't care less about the stir of children throughout our home. Cake, at last—what a birthday is all about.
I wanted to write Evan a little love note today to enumerate his sweet particularities at this age, count the many ways in which I love him. But, Sundays are my busiest days—even without a birthday to celebrate. As such, the love note didn't happen. And today's giveaway post didn't happen either. When it came down to it, I had to choose between photographing and writing a giveaway post and giving my little son his birthday dues—time, attention and cake. I chose the baby.
I could prep and post today's giveaway now, but it's getting too late in the night to do our awesome Day 25 prize justice. Instead, I'm going to go for a double header tomorrow and put up two separate giveaways in two separate posts. Hang tight and watch for those tomorrow. I'll make sure the deadlines are generous so you won't miss your chance.
Happy, Happy Birthday to my darling boy. From our early morning cake-song to my late-night blog update, today, I'm reminded of this lovely poem by Ruth Hulbert Hamilton—though it could use a new stanza about the internet, the computer and the smart phone:
Song for a Fifth Child
Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing and butter the bread,
Sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.
Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
For children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.
