Caleb’s birthday is this week. With the first two kids, I pretty much know what they’d like for their birthdays…in Timothy’s case it’s because he starts a list about three weeks after his last birthday. Everything is written down in descending level of preference, accompanied by brand and model names and sometimes a catalog with things highlighted and circled. I like to think this is just because he is very organized, rather than very greedy. I can guess what Alexis would like because I vaguely remember being a six year old girl and I know what sorts of things she likes. By the time we get to poor Caleb, he has inherited a bunch of toys from both older siblings and it’s hard to think of something unique to get him. So this year, I flat out asked him what he wanted. He responded, “I thought it was supposed to be a surprise.” “Well,” I said, “it is. But if there’s something special you know you want, you can tell me and I could think about getting it.” “Nah. Make it a surprise.”

His dad cheered when he heard this. Chris has always maintained that the only people who should be buying you presents are those who love you well enough to know what you’d like without being told. It’s a beautiful theory, but he abandoned it the year he got three copies of “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” for Christmas because everyone knew how much he liked it.

So then I asked Caleb what sort of party he’d like.

Me: “We could have a Cars party…or a truck party. Maybe a sports party like baseball or basketball. Or a bug party.”

Caleb: “I want a tree party.”

Me: “A tree party? Like that grow in the ground? Trees?”

Caleb: “Yep. Tree party.” Then he shot me this look like he was just realizing his mom might not be as bright as he thought because she was having trouble with something as simple as a tree party.

I have a four year old tree-hugging hippie. Looking back, I should have known by his refusal to wear socks and shoes. Or pants.

I had jury duty today. Fortunately, I was only there about an hour before the clerk told us to rip up our summons and go home. I should have been there for about ninety minutes but I was late…which means I also missed most of the video they were showing — “The Colorado Juror.” By the time I came in, I think they had covered all instructions and prohibitions and were to the part where people beam at the camera and talk about how they were annoyed at being summoned but by the end, felt a real sense of accomplishment (over what? Voting “guilty” or “not guilty”?)

I discovered, in the sixty minutes I was waiting in the jury room, the following people:

The Irritated Businessperson — came armed with computer. Ignored everyone. Snaked computer cord across the aisle, hunched over in tiny plastic chair and got to work. Looked vaguely discumbobulated…I’m thinking because he was prevented from also being on his cell phone.

The Bag Lady — came armed with…everything. If the jury room is suddenly quarantined due to infectious disease or tornado, you want to be in the pool with the Bag Lady. She arrives with two large shoulder bags holding granola bars, water, 3 paper books, an e-reader and knitting yarn with needles. At some point during the morning she will need to empty one entire bag to search for a pen, which is the only thing she did not bring. And yes, all you suspicious types, I’m a Bag Lady. I revel in it and I will not be ashamed.

The Unencumbered Man — came armed with nothing. Absolutely nothing. No bag. No book. I didn’t even see his juror summons, which we were told to bring. Perhaps he presented it to the clerk, then ripped it into tiny pieces and ate it. The form said to be prepared to stay until 5pm and at 8:30 this morning The Unencumbered Man was leaning forward with his head in his hands and his eyes closed. He did not change position for the hour we were there. Was this his game plan for the next nine hours? The only drawback from being released early is that now I’ll never know.