Paul's birthday is actually next week, but he's got plans elsewhere. So, the party is here today, which is good because his next-down brother, Kevvy, is in town this weekend, so it does work out well. But, well, I gotta admit, I'm feeling a little nostalgic for the days when the earth rotated around our plans for family birthday parties and get-to-gethers. Nowadays, we find we have to fit our family celebrations around the children's other plans. =sigh=
And that's OK. Really. I'm fine with it. If my big boys were still rooted here at home, I think I would think something was wrong with them. I'd worried we hadn't successfully taught them to be self secure and independent or something.
So, though I understand that home and family are not the hubs around which our young men still revolve, I can't help but feel a little bit lonesome for my little boys.
I miss them tearing around the farm, playing cops and robbers or cowboys and Indians, or whatever the scenario of the day happened to be.
I miss the building block castles and baseball stadiums they used to make.
I even miss stepping on their army guys.
I miss getting up at 6:30 am, with Paul already up, the goats already milked and his math already half done.
I miss pouring over the dioramas at the Denver Museum of Natural History with the boys.
I miss seeing Paul, tanned and strong, building and fixing our fences, better than the pros.
I miss Paul winning our trivia quizzes almost every Friday.
I miss his rice every day for lunch.
I miss him being a daily part of the life of his siblings, always teasing, but always helpful.
I miss just seeing his face every day.
I can't very well call him "Pauliwog" anymore. And he's going to roll his eyes when he sees that I've written his old nickname here. But, in a philosophical, poetic kind of way, the moniker was appropriate, because our polliwog is a big frog now, in many ways. He's grown up. But he's supposed to be. And he's turned out to be a darn nice guy. We're proud of you, Paul.