There is a door dividing the living room and Rowan’s playroom. It’s there mostly so people can relax in the living room, watch T.V. and read, without the noise of a two year old playing with various cars, trucks, trains, and some amazingly loud barnyard animals.
However, Rowan often uses this door as a prop in his many imaginative play scenarios. This morning he closed the door, with me on the playroom side, and him on the living room side. He was quiet for a little while, and just as I was about to get up and investigate, I heard the familiar rustle of wrapping paper. He has refused to admit the Christmas season is over, and has held on to a few leftover pieces of wrapping paper. He folds random objects up in the paper, and “gives” them as gifts to people. I use the word “gives” loosely because he wants them back after the receiver of the gift opens it.
So, after hearing the paper being manipulated to fully cover whatever object was being concealed, he popped his head through the barely open door, and joyfully proclaimed, “Happy Birthday Mommy!”
“Have it, Mommy.”
“Have what?” I was truly confused, seeing as he hadn’t handed me anything.
“A happy birthday!” He was less than amused at my ignorance, and it showed in his tone of voice.
“Oh. Thanks, Sweetie. I will!” I know he takes these games quite seriously, but he makes it so hard not to crack a smile.
He disappeared back into the living room for a few seconds. He slowly opened the door, and walked towards me with a large, seemingly empty, crumpled piece of wrapping paper. He handed me the festive bundle, again announced his desire for me to have a happy birthday, and instructed me to open it.
I peeled back the corners to reveal an empty box of cinnamon dental floss. (He is forever picking through the garbage for treasures.) “Wow” I was sincerely taken aback.
Someone must have told him that cinnamon dental floss was spicy, because the next phrase out of his mouth was, “Be careful, Mama, it’s hot!”
I gave him a hug, told him thank you, and gushed over the awesomeness of his thoughtful gift. True to form, he took it back, and retreated to his blanket tent in the living room.
He emerged a few moments later with a wooden piece of birthday cake.
While serving me he sang a very unique version of “Happy Birthday” that sounded suspiciously like “Twinkle, Twinkle.”
At any good birthday party there are games, and this party was no exception. He announced that it was time for hide-and-seek. I asked him if he was going to hide, or look for me? He giggled, “YES!” Then he ran off before I had a chance to question his response.
Rowan rounded the corner into the front hallway, and wedged himself into a corner, where he started to count: “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7…..come find me!” (I guess his “yes” reply earlier was accurate.)
Of course I made a big stink of finding him, looking under coffee mugs, and in the pocket of his jacket. He stifled his laughter, and I’m sure he was wondering how he got stuck with such a crazy mom, who couldn’t see that he was standing directly in front of her.
When he couldn’t take it any longer, he jumped out of the corner, wrapped his arms around my legs, and revealed that he was, “RIGHT HERE, MAMA!”
I picked him up, hugged him, and told him he throws a great party. Rowan grinned, put his head on my shoulder, and asked if I would make him eggs for breakfast.
My future birthdays are going to pale in comparison to this one. He just set the bar impossibly high.