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.
