John had his golden birthday yesterday. I had never heard of a golden birthday until I moved to Minnesota, but I love the concept -- a little extra celebration when your number of years matches the number of your birthdate. This is the first year John has gotten really, really excited about the big day. He did the countdown, the jittery constant talking about it, the fake casual questioning: "Hey Mom? Um, I'm JUST wondering, but...so, did any packages come today? I'm just curious."
Last night, as I was putting him to bed, I got all Mom and started talking about "Nine years ago right this minute, we were holding you and looking at you and waiting for people to come to the hospital!" Which, really, what nine-year-old boy wants to hear? He listened politely, then lifted his arm to his mouth and gave a righteous forearm fart.
"Dude," I said. "Come on. Maybe some manners when your mom is talking!"
"Aw, Mom," he said, lowering his arm and laughing. "It's my birthday. I'm a whole year grosser!"