It took him (and I, and his brother) ages to blow up all those balloons.
As you might expect though, with a backyard full of boys, they were all popped in half a heartbeat.
It took a good bit of time too, to cut and sew the bunting, but even longer to locate the hammer and hang the darn thing. I actually gave up the hunt after a while, swore a great deal, and finally settled for driving my nails with a meat cleaver.
In a blink, it was time to take it all down again.
There was, of course, the measuring and the pouring, the mixing and the beating and the baking and the frosting and the sprinkling.
And then they were gone, before I could say, “Who wants cake?”
It took several hilarious minutes for all the race participants to be on their mark and ready. Just about the time one would put his egg back on the spoon, another would drop.
In fact, the lining up for the races took about 20 times longer than the actual events.
When the pinata was popped and the games were played, the cake eaten and the presents opened, when all the guests had gone and at long last a tired birthday boy lay his little head on his pillow, he said, “Mama, I had a really great party.” So of course, the time spent preparing for the party was repaid a thousandfold in joy for both boy and mama.
With a sleepy smile, he said, “It takes so long to get a year older, but parties are over so fast.”
Isn’t that always the way? We’re in such a hurry to grow up, and then we find ourselves wishing so dearly that things would slow down a little.
To him, a year seems like forever, but I know that it will feel, to me, like no time at all.