Isaac is three as of last Friday. I took him to lunch and then to work, which promptly became “work,” where he crawled under my desk and generally charmed and pestered everyone in earshot. Then it was back home for special Mom-and-Isaac time (they made sugar cookies) while I took his older brothers shopping for presents. There was a party, of course, with cake and cookies, followed by more fun with friends.
When I finally put him to bed that night, he was sweaty and frosting-flecked and sleepy. I think he knows he’s loved. And yet he is, sometimes, for just a whisper of a moment, the wistful cowboy. It’s in our genes.
Happy birthday William Isaac. Our lives are much more chaotic, and blessed, for your being in the world.
