Brady turned 12 years old today. I think he had a good day; it began as we enjoyed our customary Wednesday morning Starbucks date and then marked the actual minute of his birth during the car ride to school. He was cheerful enough at pick-up, employed his usual laser-focus to finish his homework lickety-split, and opted for dinner at Black Bear (where he decided to forego French toast --his recent big culinary love-- in favor of the aptly named Volcano --which includes a stack of pancakes, a pile of eggs, bacon, and sausage-- because he wanted a lot of food).
After dinner Abby video called in --with a festive party hat perched atop her head-- to join us virtually for presents and double chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and mint chocolate chip ice cream. The resulting sibling pic is one of the strangest we've ever had, but I think it's also one of the loveliest.
He was smiley and cheerful and goofy in his usual Brady way all day long. So yes, I think he had a good day. And I'm grateful for that.
But beyond that, I'm grateful that he's here. I'm grateful for who he is and for how he rounds out our family. I'm grateful for how he's organized and goal-oriented and how he dedicates himself to completing tasks well. I'm grateful for how he'll befriend anyone who needs a pal and for how I can sometimes see tears well up in his eyes when he hears a sad story.
And I'm grateful that his arrival more than a decade ago shone some desperately needed light and warmth into what felt like an impossibly dark and cold period of my life. I'm grateful for his growing and maturing relationships with Isaac and Abby and I'm grateful for how his bizarre dances and silly facial expressions sometimes remind me so much of his oldest brother that the sight takes my breath away.
It's beautiful, really. And I'm so thankful for the past 12 years of Brady. Happy birthday, muffin. I love you and your unicorns and penguins and kerns more than you know.
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