We've celebrated one year with Jackson. And celebrated. And celebrated.
Which is fine, because there has been a lot to celebrate. 6 teeth (hard fought, every one), more haircuts than a one-year-old should have to endure, 365 nights (not all entirely sleepless), and one really good, really fun baby boy named Jackson.
His first birthday party was everything a boy's first birthday party should be: full of awesome toys, awesome friends, and awesome food. His Very Hungry Caterpillar cake satisfied a Very Hungry Boy, with red icing smeared across a Very Happy face.
Day two of the festivities, Easter, was just as eventful. This time we celebrated with family, drowning in even more toys, more love, and more fun. Overall, a very good celebration.
Really, between these two awesome parties, this one amazing little boy, and all of these wonderful friends and family, there was really only one downside: the party favors.
Now, I managed to not get one. Generally, I like to get the stuff that everyone else gets. I am as American as anyone that way, I guess. This time, however, the party favor was a nasty stomach bug, and we managed to be pretty generous with it. By last count, the birthday boy, his mommy, 3 of his 4 grandparents, all of his aunts and uncles, plus 3 of our friends managed to get our little “favor,” and seeing it first-hand, we did no one a favor.
Shared experiences are a special way to bring groups together, and the aftermath of Jacksonpalooza weekend was certainly a shared experience. Maybe it's because I was the only one not leaking out both ends early the next week, but having such a momentous plague marking your first year of birth both makes the celebration memorable and must be some kind of good omen. While Jackson may be some kind of Harbinger of Doom, I prefer to read the Sign of the Plague in a different way. That sickness, spreading so rapidly to so many households simply shows how close the people who love and support my son are. I say that's a very good sign.
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