Middlest turns 8

Can it really be eight years since that chubby-faced baby landed in my arms for the first time? My first home-birthed babe, the nursling content to be in a sling wherever his mama went, who put up with toddler head-bonk kisses from his "big" brother, slept quietly tucked beside me every night, whose one desire from life was to nurse and be cuddled?

Yes, it really can. Yesterday, we celebrated his birthday, starting with presents at home before I'd even had my tea. This was the year of the pocket knife. Scott gave Eldest one when he turned eight, and Middlest waited another 18 months for his. First use: opening the box of a new Bionicle set.

The weatherman had threatened 50-mph winds and rain all afternoon, but we prayed for a birthday blessing and received sunshine instead.  The weather was beautiful just long enough to spend a few hours at the park, to eat bbq hot dogs and chocolate cupcakes, play tag, and bob for apples -- the only nod to his autumn, nearly-Halloween birthdate.

No orange and black, please. He didn't want a fancy theme or costume party (although I'm open to that next year when the big day's on Saturday). It's not easy competing with Halloween party weekend, but we try to keep the focus just on our boy -- the middlest one.