Happy Birthday

Today my "baby" turned eight. Eight.  I can't quite wrap my head round eight at the moment. He may have to become MediumBear sometime. Not yet though. He's still LittleBear for now.

I have had to bite my tongue repeatedly not to spoil the surprises for his birthday, because I'm utterly rubbish at keeping secrets, but I'm glad I managed it, as he was suitably delighted with the esoteric mix of presents he received. I am a mixture of proud and alarmed that he is currently of the view that his favourite present was the box containing forty small screwtop jars. Each jar contains a sample of a different chemical element. I would have been quite happy to receive said collection, if only because it includes pieces of some splendidly obscure metals (Hafnium anyone?) and it warms the cockles of my heart to know my little boy finds the same joy. Second only to my son's delight in his new collection, is the knowledge that the entire set was donated to us by one of my colleagues after he decided that his accumulation of elements after a forty year career in analytical chemistry needed a new home.

For those concerned that my son might not be having enough fun, he did also receive multiple books and games, a cuddly snow leopard and a trip to Twickenham to watch the Barbarians.

Usually my highlight on LittleBear's birthday is seeing his happiness and excitement as he opens his presents. Today, however, it was trumped by a moment that almost brought me to tears...

It is "traditional" at his school that each child takes to school some kind of treat for all the members of their class. In LittleBear's case, the treat was a small mountain of packets of Haribo sweets, which he loves with a passion that I find mystifying.

When I retrieved him from school, he informed me that there had been one packet left, which would be for him. This seemed utterly reasonable to me, and in fact what I had assumed would be the case. As we set off down the school drive we passed his headmistress, who often tries to stand there to say goodbye to the pupils.

"There's MrsHeadmistress! Can I give her the last packet of Haribo?"

"Of course you can, if you'd like to."

And off he went, presenting his headmistress with his own sweets and having a little chat with her about his birthday, including his impending trip to Twickenham. She agreed to accept the sweets on the grounds he promise to tell her all about the rugby when he sees her on Monday.

As we headed home, I told my generous, sweet-hearted little boy how proud I was of him for being so thoughtful and being happy to give away his last packet of sweets.

"That's OK. It's my birthday and I'm getting lots of things."

How could anyone not love my boy?