Tuesday, May 1, 2012


I once worked with a woman who was born on December 29. Her parents named her after her grandmother: Mary Christman. Yes, seriously. Luckily for her, her parents gave her two gifts: 1) they nicknamed her May; 2) they decided to spare her the disappointment of being forgotten amidst two major holidays by moving her birthday to May 1st. I've always loved that story, and though we've lost touch over the years, I always think of her on this day.

So, here we are. May. My actual birth month. 

I've always been a huge fan of birthdays. From kindergarten through twelfth grade, my birthday always marked the time of year when spring had officially sprung, and the countdown to summer vacation was in full swing. College was a little more challenging. Since classes ended about a month earlier, my birthday always fell smack-dab in the middle of exam week. Even still, we always found some small way to celebrate. 

As an adult, I've been thoroughly perplexed by the people that take the day off from work in honor of their special day. "But if you're not here," I say, "then how can everyone wish you a happy birthday??" Clearly, my view of birthdays is similar to that of a two year old. Hudson seems to be fully on board with the concept of celebration, as evidenced by the fact that he blows out imaginary candles every time he hears the word. 

Three times in my life thus far, I've had to share my big day with all of the mothers in the world. This year will make four. I've spent the better part of four weeks now dropping not-so-subtle hints to Logan that I fully expect to get two cards from my boys. And then today happened.

And away we go!
While at the office, our friend Morgan popped over to tell us that her husband and son had spent the morning checking out the trucks working at our new place. Turns out, we broke ground today.

After work, we rushed right over to the land to check things out. There we found, much to Hudson's amazement, life-size replicas of the "big trucks!" we read about together in his books every night. From the woods we could hear a persistent buzzing. "What's that sound?" Huddy asked. "A chainsaw!" dad replied. It was our GC, friend, and "uncle" Gary, clearing the land to make the property line more visible for the excavators. 

At bedtime tonight (from which, it seems, most of my revelations seem to stem), Huddy and I shared a pretty awesome exchange:
Hudson: "Gary, chainsaw, cut down treeeeeeee!"
Mom: "Wow, Huddy. That's awesome that you remember that. Good job! Can you say 'awesome'?"
Mom: "Do you know who is awesome?"
Hudson: "GARY awesome!"

After Hudson went down, I hopped on Facebook to share the story with the big man himself. It was there that I learned that today, May Day, is actually his birthday. And he spent it working on our new place. Putting a big hole in the ground, helping to make our dream a reality. 

Today, I learned a lesson in sharing. Maybe one card would be OK after all.

300 Cochran Road, Richmond, VT

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