Great Expectations

“Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“You know how you took the whole day off on Zach’s birthday?”

“Yeah?”

“I expect you to do EXACTLY the same thing on my birthday!”

“Okay, Ez.”

“No, Daddy.  I’m serious.  THE ENTIRE DAY.”

“Okay, Ez.  I won’t work on your birthday.”

“That’s what I’m totally expecting.”

This kind of talk would normally sound disrespectful to me.  But we do birthday’s big in our family.  We don’t get each other gifts on Christmas, and we explain this to the boys with, “On Jesus’ birthday, we go all out for Jesus.  On your birthday, we go all out for you.”  So the expectations tend to be high.

We buy the boys gifts that say, “We know you.  We get you.  We bought you something that is perfect for you.”  A backyard soccer net and Celtics tickets for one boy.   A monogrammed apron, a giant chef’s hat, a cookbook, his own utensils, and Blue Man Group tickets for another. Very often the presents include a night away with Daddy.

We ask that friends not bring gifts because I find that too many presents, especially the kind that some stressed out mother had to buy on her way to the party, take away from the specialness of the day.  They feed the boys’ desires for more stuff and detract from their ability to enjoy the friends and games and gifts that are intended to show how deeply the boys are loved.  (The boys contend that we have this all wrong, and I can imagine a therapy session in their future where we sound like horrible people.)

I had been telling the boys for years that they would get new bikes when they turn eight, but Ezra really wants one now.  I thought it might feel unfair to Zach, but when we asked him about it, he said, “I wouldn’t be upset.  I would be really happy for him.”

That sealed the present. On to the party.

We have done Star Wars Padawan Training.  (This party led several mothers to say they would ban future parties unless we lowered the bar a bit.)  For Ezra’s last party, we dissected owl pellets (which are hair balls owls puke up, hair balls that contain undigested bones).  Not surprisingly, the kids loved it.

This year it’s a bee party.  Ezra said to me two days ago, “You have all of it planned and it’s going to be excellent, right? And I’m gonna get to wear my beekeeper outfit, right?”

He also has a list of expectations for his actually birthday, which falls a day earlier than the party.  In addition to Jeff’s work ban, I am to make “the best salmon in the whole world.” Zach and Kathiana are to bake cupcakes while he watches TV.  And everyone has to “do everything I want all day.”

I’m looking forward to celebrating my baby.  But each year, as the boys’ expectations grow, I wonder if wouldn’t just be easier to buy them a bunch of plastic stuff on Christmas and take the birthday thing down a notch.  I mean, Jesus has been having birthdays for a couple thousand years.  Doesn’t he have enough crap that people rushed out to buy him at the last minute?