A bad-happy-birthday

t was a Very. Bad. Day. It all started with us singing “Happy Birthday” to James, who turned 8 years old today. There were hugs and kisses and smiles all around. Except for Owen. James opened his cards and presents and got to choose a special breakfast of birthday pancakes. Owen didn’t get any presents or cards, and his pancakes weren’t as tasty because he got served second. He locked himself in the bathroom and declared, “Nobody loves me. You all hate me. I am never eating again." 

We caught Owen trying to steal James’ new colored pencils, begging for sheets of paper from his new sketch pad, and lamenting his lack of an Eagles wallet to keep dollar bills in. “I hate this day. This is the worst day ever.”

And it only got worse. Then there were checkups today for both James and Owen. Even though James’ appointment was first, Owen kept up a steady stream of whiny commentary. By the time she was finished with James the doctor turned patiently to Owen and remarked, “Well, we know there’s nothing wrong with his language development.” 

Then we came home and had Chicken Charlie pizza and chocolate birthday cake. And it was SO UNFAIR because James got to choose the first piece and was served the first slice of cake and got to blow the candle out. “I will NOT sing ‘Happy Birthday.' This is the worst day ever and nobody is paying any attention to me.”

James, bless his gentle heart, was endlessly patient with Owen all day. “I love you Owen. It’s just my birthday today.” “No! I hate this day!” Roy and I worked hard to strike a balance of reassuring Owen that he is loved and necessary, while not taking away from hopefully helping James have a special day. This proved exhausting.

James received a special FaceTime call from Grandpa and Grandpa Davis, and then an extra-special call from his best friend Alexa. His face lit up like a Christmas tree when her face appeared on the screen and they eagerly exchanged details of their day. Owen’s head kept appearing in front of James, whining, “Why doesn’t Alexa want to talk to ME?! This day is the worst!” Alexa, to her credit, reassured Owen that she liked him too, but that it was James’ birthday. “Why can’t it be MY birthday? Nobody is paying attention to me!”

After a brief rest time (bliss!) Roy departed for a rehearsal in Buffalo. I invited the boys to join me in some games. James eagerly agreed while Owen declared, “No! I don’t WANT to play any games!” So I started a round of Battleship with James and Owen immediately inserted himself in the middle of it, insisting on assisting with peg placement and guesses. We actually made it through the game without anything being thrown across the room. 

Felix requested that we play “Loo’in’ Lou’ee” next. We enjoyed several half-rounds in which we set up all of the chicken tokens, Felix turned the game on, and then shut it off almost immediately. “I lost my chi’ens! I nee’ to put my chi’ens back!” This was great fun, with giggles all around. At one point Owen got up while we were re-setting the game, but returned in time for the next round.

Shortly after that I thought I heard something in the living room. I paused, and, sure enough, there was an odd shuffling noise. I got up and walked across the downstairs. 

There was an enormous man in my living room. His shoes were off, he was removing his coat, and very much making himself at home. My five year old had let a perfect stranger into our house and neglected to feel any alarm or the need to inform his mother. Oh, there were many thoughts.

“WHO IS THIS?!”

“Owen must have let this dude in here. He KNOWS not to open the door without permission.”

“That is one big guy.”
"We can't be getting robbed. How will I protect the kids?"

“I don’t have a bra on. Of course.”

I did not scream. Mercifully. I assumed the stranger was a meter reader. He greeted me cheerfully, informing me that he was here to pick up some person I had never heard of. I politely pointed him up the street in the direction of the house number he was looking for. I deadbolted the door. And then, Owen’s day got a whole lot more “unfair.”

Roy’s reaction after I filled him in?

“Well, in Owen’s defense, even if that guy had turned out to be a serial killer he was definitely not making a big deal about James’ birthday.”

Oh y’all. It’s been a DAY.

...

P.S. I just put the boys to bed. I asked them each to think of something they were thankful for. Owen happily declared, without batting an eye, "I am thankful it was James' birthday and I am thankful that he loves me."

Dead.