In our home, the night before a birthday, usually sometime right before bed, one of us yells, “Time to hug the birthday kid one last time!!!” We then all pile on top of that person and shower them with love. I usually linger for a little longer than the rest, savoring the moment before my kid is a new age. I tell them how much I have loved their younger selves and how I can’t wait to meet the older version tomorrow. I tell them how I am sure they will, no doubt, do even greater things!! I fully believe it too, that they’ll accomplish awesome things in the coming year–they are my kid, after all ;). I want them to hear it from me and believe it too!
My heart always aches just a little as I think of my children getting older, the sweetness of youth slipping. This tradition started with just me. I would snuggle my kids just a little longer and breathe in their “younger” smelling hair, tickle their smaller ribs, and kiss their youthful foreheads. My other kids began to join in until it became a thing that everyone expected, and looked forward to. The next morning, on the birthday, we all tackle the “older” version of the child. This part usually involves running or some sort of attempt on the part of the birthday kid at escaping. We always end up catching them, however, and squeeze, maybe just a smidgen too hard ;). Then comes the inspection. The kid stands on a chair, or not if they’re older, and I look in ears, mouths and usually poke a belly button and then declare the child to have officially reached their new age. We all clap and cheer and then go about our day.
It’s complete silliness. We all know it, but it’s our tradition and my kids all expect it, anticipate it even. I take great pleasure in their delight of it all. I get to savor them with this little bit of extra and individualized attention, and my kids feel the sense of accomplishment at having successfully turned their new age. They start their new trip around the sun having done something right already!! So good!
This tradition was born all from my desire to keep them little just a little longer, and I think that it’s worked. My 12 and 13 year old kids enjoy it still. It has become a rite of passage. And although I’m sure they may feign protest in the coming years, I know that they will allow it–I mean, it’s tradition!
No doubt similar episodes will be playing out in their future homes with their littles as well. I will be sure to enlist their children’s help in tackling my 35-year-old child to hug them just a little longer.
May the moment last. May we savor it more deeply as it is so fleeting. Let them be little–then celebrate them being big!
Kayleen
