Festivities

Call me Mother of the Year.

I feel as though I have pulled off the scam of the century. Complete with pregnancy-related exhaustion. And Peanut as my willing accomplice.

For the few who didn't know, Boomer turned 30 this week. He was quite proud of the way we celebrated my 30th last year, complete with Nana and Papa throwing a party for the family and Evil Twin and family coming to play. Boomer gloatingly told me that I wouldn't be able to do this for him as he has no siblings to fly home. This is true. Boomer is an only child. But I'm unable to throw my beloved a surprise party? And possibly top his surprise? Perish the thought!

My plan was set in motion last year. Figure out how to get Opa home for Boomer's birthday. Not surprisingly, Opa was all for this. And then came the inviting of the relatives, telling them to keep this quiet (again, not difficult; Boomer has mischievous relatives), and keeping my fool mouth shut around my husband. This proved to be the most difficult; I'm a rotten liar who prides herself on telling her husband everything. But I had a mission, and was determined not to fail.

So, on the date in mind, Boomer went off for a much-needed motorcycle ride and the family gathered. Boomer just stared at me when he came home to a yard full of people and I explained that, while he has no siblings to bring home, he does have a father. Who was going to the zoo with us in two days. Boomer was shocked; I was smug. And Peanut got to blow out candles and eat cake. A grand time was had by all.

The zoo was delightful. Peanut behaved beautifully, and was fascinated by the animals. His favorite, by far, was the raccoon exhibit at the Children's Zoo. Thankfully, he has not been able to imitate them. He was thrilled with the polar bear, imitated the monkeys, and did not want to leave the penguins. We found a carousel, and there was much rejoicing. Best of all, no temper tantrums.

All in all, it was a grand birthday. Or so I was told. And, as is my tradition:

Happy Birthday, Boomer. I love you. And you have (as I write this) two days until our anniversary.

Call me Mother of the Year.