Isabelle (not-too-long-ago) turned 11.
During the 6 months that follow her birthday I refuse her attempts to engage me in birthday-themed conversations. You know, all the things she’d like to get for her birthday, what kind of cake she’d like, what sort of party she’s thinking of having.
But sometime after Christmas, I begin to indulge her.
Yes, I know she will change her mind more times than there are hairs on her head about Every. Single. Thing we discuss.
Because this is a girl that loves to be celebrated.
On this day, pre-party, we ran a few errands at her request. Traditionally I take the birthday person to Target to buy party supplies, with a treat on the way.
Everyone knows momma don’t buy candy from the check out line. But on this day, her birthday, she said, “Mom? You know these candy bars? Yeah, Hershey bars? I *really* love them. And I haven’t had one in a long, long time.”
Then onto our next errand and she accompanied me into the store, leaving her big brother and several younger siblings jealously waiting in the car, pink crown still in place.
Hmmmm, think she hasn’t already noticed the pink crown and the traces of Hershey chocolate encircling your mouth?
“Sure Mei, you can tell her.”
She walked out with that necklace and a well-worn Hello Kitty necklace draped around her neck.
She was beaming.
Personal pizzas made by Isabelle herself. Giant cookie cake. Glow sticks. Sparkling candles. Three kinds of soda. Party horns and punching balloons.
Happy Birthday, sweet girl. You make celebrating you such fun.