Breakfast; Not So Much At Tiffany's

 {A 7 am door-bell surprise.}

Birthdays make me laugh in my home.

A bit like Dickens' famous opening line, they bring out the best of times and the funniest of times. Having two children less than sixteen months apart makes for a lot of "twin" activities. But birthdays are still their own day and they can often start off really well (lots of hugs and exclamations of thank you's) and slowly degenerate into a teeny, tiny bit of jealousy.

This morning was just that. Stunning displays of secret keeping and festive joy, slowly turning into a realization that, yep, same as last year, you still don't get any presents on your sibling's birthday.

For one bouncy, seven year old this was kind of getting old by 8:30 am. His effusive sister was in heaven. She had sweet surprises and a bouquet of roses from her Papa; her own pot of tea with donuts and visitors pre-dawn,  and then spontaneously she burst out: "I feel like the most cherished and loved little girl in the whole wide world!" I was beaming at our collective success when suddenly I heard muttered flatly from the other side of the table: "Well, you wouldn't be if Mom and Dad had had two girls."

I hid my grin, turned a deaf ear and carried on. We gathered on the floor to choose embroidery floss colours and make friendship bracelets together when I heard a little voice behind me again: "Purple and pink really stink, purple and pink really stink..."

By this time I was trying really hard not to laugh out loud. I know that feeling, I had empathy. His sister was good natured about it, too, lecturing only just a short while on how it hurt her feelings. I suggested he head to the couch and play over there. The next whisper I heard, I couldn't hold in my laughter any more: "Furious, fussy Fred flings food fiercely..."

"What," I asked, "is that about?!"

Innocently my son looked over at me from the couch, "Nothing, Mama, I am just saying a little rhyme I made up about nothing." He looked at his sisters three level cake and little stack of presents and sing-songed under his breath again: "Furious, fussy Fred flings food fiercely!"



They are, by far, my very favourite ages yet.