where the writers are
Happy Birthday
mitchell and julien.jpg

So meanwhile, back at the ranch, Michael left the freezer door open for the half the day and a pint of fabulous ice cream turned back into it's original form.  Which is to say, dear readers, it melted.

Melted ice cream is a bad joke, and this very morning, I will embark yet again on the task of making chocolate ice cream.  If it were any other day, I wouldn't, but today is my younger son's birthday and chocolate ice cream was on his request list, along with flank steak, chimichurri sauce, mashed potatoes, chocolate cake, and the aforementioned chocolate ice cream.

Twenty-three years ago, I think we were finally on our way to the hospital, this time to stay.  Back in the days when I had a uterus and was in the mode of giving birth, I wasn't a good laborer.  I had labor for days that didn't do much, trying to get myself checked in, as if admission to a hospital meant that the baby would actually come out.  I liked to drag it out to the bitter end.  I think I gave birth the first time because they scared me by signing the consent for a C section.  Pop! out he came.

My second son was huge, but at the time, we didn't know how huge.  when I finally managed to get him into the birth canal and push that little guy out, the nurses marveled.  Ten pounds, twelve ounces, twenty four inches long.  I gave birth to a two month old.

Now at 6 foot one, and close to 180, this is man dude. 

It seems so long ago, but not really.  In a blink of an eye, I can erase all the effort of the past years, and there he is, in my arms.  I blink again, and I'm at his college graduation.  Where does it go?  Haven't we always been asking ourselves that forever?  I think it's all a dream, and all we know is what we have right now.  Right now, I have a 23 year old son, who is coming over for dinner tonight.  And that's a good thing.