Every time one of my sons has a birthday, a few common players show up to the party.
There is always celebration,
There is always ribbon,
There is always a cake,
There is always a book,
There is always a present for the birthday brother,
And try as I may to avoid it, there is always a picture of my face doing this.
Happy Birthday, Tuck.
Seven is yours to hold with both hands. Let’s do it, kiddo.
I adore everything you.
(And apparently I should shift my bedtime closer to yours.)