Happy Birthday!

Today is Mardi Gras, and normally, I'd celebrate with a plethora of plastic beads and a King's Cake. But this year, I'm celebrating with a birthday cake instead. It's Mark's birthday, and today, I am the proud mother of a 9-year-old boy.

I woke him up by singing "Happy Birthday," and to my dismay, he rolled over in his bed, pulling the pillow over his ears. (Hey, I'm no American Idol, but my singing's not that bad!)

"No, Mom!" he shouted through the pillow. "No!"

"What do you mean, 'No'?" I asked. "It's your birthday! I think you're legally obligated to wake up happy."

But he was having none of it, not even when I gave him his first present.

"Since it's your birthday, I'm giving you a choice," I said. "You can sleep in late this morning, or go get donuts for your birthday breakfast."

And, in typical Mark fashion, he asked, "Can I do both?"

Now, let me just tell you, the only thing that boy loves more than his cat Frankie or sleeping in late is a donut. Sometimes he'll stop whatever he's doing, look up to the skies with glazed-over eyes, and say dreamily, "Donuts -- I love donuts!" I think it was the first thing he bonded with my dad over -- their mutual love of donuts.

Eventually, he chose donuts over sleep. He hopped out of bed, and danced around his room. He brushed his teeth while singing, and dressed very quickly, shaking his booty at me. He even drank his morning shake without complaint when I said I couldn't send him to school all jacked up on fried dough and sugar alone. (He's gotta have some protein, or he'll go low by 10 a.m.)

And finally, he was ready. We drove to the donut shop, where he took one look at the display and asked, "Can I have two donuts?"

"Sure," I said. It's his birthday, and I was feeling magnanimous.

It took a few minutes, but he finally decided on a maple bar and a devil's food covered in coconut. He sat at the table, still singing and wiggling in anticipation. "I looooove donuts!" he reminded me.

He savored the maple bar, licking his fingers between bites so he didn't miss a single bit of it. He took a while to eat it, and when he finally finished it, he patted his belly and blew out a long breath.

"You okay?" I asked, and he nodded.

"I'm getting kinda full," he said.

"Well, you don't have to eat the second one," I told him.

He looked at me like I was insane, and threw his arms into the air. "What are you, CRAZY?" he shouted. "OF COURSE I'm gonna eat the other one!" He shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't believe I'd even suggest such a thing.

He took about three bites of the coconut one, then looked back over at the display and sighed.

"I should've got a glazed one," he said wistfully.

"You can get one next time," I said.

"When? In another YEAR?" He shook his head at me again. I swear, he may be newly 9, but he's got the teenage attitude pefected already.

Finally, after watching him take the smallest bites ever for 20 minutes, I insisted we leave. I wanted him to have a few minutes to run all that sugar off on the playground before class started.

I dropped him off across from school, and watched him run along the sidewalk, racing my car to the crosswalk. He danced across the sidewalk, and I just smiled.

There's goes my 9-year-old, I thought to myself. And I smiled at the happy, confident, loving little boy he's grown into.

Happy birthday, little man. Laissez les bon temps rouler!