Saturday, August 29, 2009
I started first grade yesterday. I just walked right in, green backpack that my mom made me monogram, slung across my shoulders, and started whooping it up with my boys. High fiving and smack talking and giggling and stuff. I didn't miss a beat considering I missed the first three days of school. I even got all sorts of attention, being the birthday boy and all. I just might be the only kid who was five when first grade officially started. Well, no matter because today I am six.
Let me repeat: Today I am Six.
I was born six years ago, a so-called "Ice Storm" baby of 2003. Mommy says I popped right out after three pushes and 20 minutes. Her friends roll their eyes and turn away when she tells that story. Mommy and I shared an inferno burger and vanilla shake just before that. And we rocked the prenatal yoga classes. Apparently I had some feeding issues a few days after I was born, making me all weak and whiny and wobbly. I think they official term is "failure to thrive." Wow, Mommy and Daddy would croak if that were ever on my report card. Anyway, that's when the doctor ordered the syringe.
You have been wondering why they call me Bird, right? Well, Daddy christened me Bird when I was three days old, and it's clearly stuck. Sometimes my teachers even call me Bird. Mommy calls me Bird on the playground when it's time to go. She even called me No-Strike Bird when I played T-Ball, claiming that would make a fantastic headline-grabbing nickname when I play for the Brewers one day. Actually, I bet it was Daddy who mentioned the Brewers because Mommy doesn't know a thing about sports.
Anyway, when I had trouble feeding from my mommy the doctor told my parents to let me suck my mommy's pinky while my daddy used a syringe to shoot some formula into my mouth. It was apparently the only way to nourish me while keeping my suckling in tact. I don't really get the ins and outs but I do know that Daddy said feeding tiny little baby me with a syringe was like feeding a baby bird. Hence the name. By the way, Mommy still has that syringe in my baby box. And obviously they still call me Bird.
Mommy tends to get all weepy on my birthday. She says that her vision improved after I was born so I'm not sure why she gets all emotional, seeing that she doesn't need glasses anymore. She also loves a good party so I bet the luau I requested for my 6th birthday party is gonna rock. All I know is that boxes from Oriental Trading have been littering our living room. I'm just excited to wear the tiki shirt my Dadu gave me. For some reason Mommy refuses to wear the grass skirt and coconut bra I found for her at the party store.
So today I'm looking forward to a few of my favorite things: playing the Star Wars LEGO Wii game that my Uncle gave me, eating beignets for breakfast, engaging in a fierce dart launcher war with my brother (thanks to the Nerf shooter from my Nani), chowing on cheeseburgers and shakes at Red Robin, and generally being spoiled. I'll squeeze in some LEGO time and an art project or two with my Mommy too. And I get to go to a swimming party since my friend Sarah and I share a birthday (Happy Birthday shout out to you, Sarah!). I might even test my limits and whine a bit just to see if Mommy and Daddy have the heart to scold me on my birthday. heh heh heh. I mean really, six won't come around again.
Mommy tells me that I'm just like her. I guess that means she's smart, funny, and clever, Ha ha ha. I swear I am the funniest person I know! Strangers stop me and Mommy on the street to comment how our smiles are so much alike. I guess it's a good thing we make each other smile...most of the time. I share my mommy's temperament but I am definitely a daddy's boy. I also pretend that my little brother Deal drives me crazy but I actually love him and race home from school to play with him, even though my interpretation of "play" is wrestling and shoving decorative throw pillows on his face.
The birthday horoscope my parents have for me says that I will grow up to be creative and mathy. It claims I will make a living as an architect or engineer. It also says I will inherit a sweet tooth from my Mommy. Right on all counts so far!
My name is Bird, and I am six today.
Friday, August 28, 2009
When I was pregnant with Bird I ate ice cream everyday. Every. Single. Day. Sometimes it was frozen custard, sometimes a banana fudge shake. Never a popsicle or the food world's worst excuse for dessert, a snow cone.
It's no surprise that my Bird is equally addicted to the creamy goodness of ice cream. He got a taste of the good life in utero. Bird generally goes for plain ol' vanilla but chooses mint chocolate chip when he's feeling particularly footloose. I'm one of those rare coffee ice cream girls myself, though I wouldn't turn down any flavor, except for Cherry Garcia. Blech.
I wish I could blame my 45 pound weight gain on Bird but I think Ben, Jerry, and Edy have to shoulder the blame here.
Since today is the eve of Bird's birth, I'm toasting my firstborn, whom I affectionately refer to as my first baby, even though it makes him blush. Six years ago today we shared an inferno burger and ginormous vanilla milkshake.
Six years later, we each order our own.
2 scoops vanilla ice cream
1/2 - 1 cup 2% milk
4 - 6 York Peppermint Patties plus 2 for garnish (snack size)
For the age 21+ version, use 1 shot of creme de menthe and 2 shots of creme de cacao in place of the peppermint patties.
Blend until frothy. Serve in a tall glass with one of those crazy swirly straws. Garnish with a York Peppermint Pattie wedged on the side of the glass like a slice of lime.