Gratitude. The humbling, heartbroken, and joyful sort.

Happy Birthday dear Harry Boy. Happy Birthday to you.

“Our debt to the heroic men and valiant women in the service of our country can never be repaid. They have earned our undying gratitude. America will never forget their sacrifices.” President Harry S. Truman

I am daily privy to their gleeful introduction to this life. This weekend, and every other, I thank God for their liberty.

Our birthday boy is feeling a bit poorly this morning. Not to worry, his sister is ever eager to jump in, show him how to unwrap a gift, and take his temperature.

Harry’s natural rubber dummies had a good run. The last one literally fell into a pig stye this week. Within days of his first birthday, he has dropped both the pacifier and the bottle. 

The last day of her first year of toddler Montessori was Tuesday. She can check color identification off the list of lessons learned this year. On the way to school, we pass a technicolor garage door. I shout out blue, then pink, yellow, and green. She runs to the corresponding square. She will surely be counting down the days until September.

In their element.