So we headed to Lexington for the annual June birthday extravaganza. My grandmother’s birthday is the same week as my daughter’s, (and the same day as my Papaw’s) so if we’re in the same town at the time, we celebrate together. The girls and I stopped at my folks’ house last Thursday. We ordered P.F.Chang’s carry-out (nothing says Happy Birthday like a vat of hot & sour soup, fried rice and lo mein…but I digress…) and Nanny joined us for dinner. Mom had a strawberry birthday cake as our centerpiece with huge candles “85” and “9.” I love that Nanny and The Bug sit side by side and blow out candles on the same cake. The Pea sat on the kitchen stool clad in the Native American outfit Mom sewed to wear on Halloween when Dave and I were in elementary school. (Because clearly, a ratty haired Pocahontas-Wanna-Be will be easily explained when showing precious birthday snapshots of years gone by.) “Sweet Baby, what happened to your party dress?” I ask the Pea. “Dunno. I’m not a Baby, Mamma.” Anyhooo…. After the party I helped the Pea suds up in a hot bath and wash the tangles out of her hair. She stepped out of the tub and I wrapped her up in a soft, fuzzy towel. I paused for a moment, with my arms around her in an embrace. Savoring the clean shampoo and babywash smells combined with the fresh detergent scent of the towel. “Sweet Pea,” I said, “You know you will ALWAYS be my baby, even when you are 85 years old.”
“Mamma,” replied the Pea, “When I’m 85, you’ll be dead.”
And the lovely moment came to a screeching halt thanks to my precious, but literal child. Good times.
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