I will admit, I spent a lot of last night looking at baby pictures and crying. Not my proudest moment. Dammit Boy (“Dammit, boy, stop carrying the cat round like a doll….Dammit, boy, quit hiding the dirty dishes under your bed”) turned 21 today.
So I will not review the past 21 years. Noah is aghast that I might show photos. Which, of course, I would never do. I would never show the photo of Noah on our snowshoe adventure in Reno when we tried to prop him up for a photo. Alas, he toppled over face first in the snow and King Daddy had to rescue him. Who knew 6-month-olds had so few motor skills, especially when locked inside a “baby in a bag”? We did not think to brush the snow off his cap to wipe away the evidence.
And, naturally, I would not post the photo of the biscuit cutter incident. That would be so embarrassing. Who knew that a toddler could open a kitchen drawer, retrieve a biscuit cutter, high tail it to the master bathroom and manage to push it up over his kneecap? Is it child abuse that we grabbed the camera before we removed the cutter? And I just noticed a recurring theme in these photos – King Daddy’s hand propping up the afflicted child so that evidence could be recorded.
And the bathtub photos. Never show the bathtub photos. That would just be mortifying. Of course, you can look at him at the time and tell he was thrilled to have his picture made. I just flashed on that proverbial letter you write as an adult to yourself as a child, giving the younger you advice. “Noah,” Noah would write, “Never let your mother take photos of you in the bathtub.” Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!!! Got you, Sonny Boy.
Oh, let’s see. How about Halloween costumes? Those are always crowd pleasers. King Daddy has always prided himself on his make-up artistry for Halloween. I think Noah looks a little bit like Donald Trump here, but he was pleased. Halloween was always a non-starter for Noah because he hates candy. So he would dash around the neighborhood, filling up his bag, and then dump it on the kitchen counter and go play Pokemon. Can I tell you how much I hate the people who give hard butterscotch candy for Halloween? Who eats that crap?
So I always write a letter to Noah every year on his birthday. I review past accomplishments and note a few things he has to work on. But this year, I wrote him a letter with advice now that he is an Official Grown-Up. The letters are private so I won’t go into details (how unlike me!). But I will tell you the first piece of advice I gave him is this: Be kinder than you need to be.
There is not enough kindness in this world. Kindness would cure a world of hurt. Literally. Noah, I am sorry for the bathtub picture. Really. Be kind to your mother.
And, just to set the record straight, we never called Noah Dammit Boy. Not so he could hear.