Celebration - a tribute

I have a lot to be thankful for, not the least of which are two happy, healthy kids. I've posted more about the younger son (recently here), but number one son's birthday is today, and it's a milestone celebration worthy of a little tribute.

I've never been a scrapbooker. I've saved everything, always meaning to get around to it. I've got dozens of scrapbooks, sadly empty, gathering dust in a box near all the boxes of photos and elementary school art. Imagine how thrilled I was, in the first box I opened, to find Z's very first photo.


Every mother always, rightfully, believes their babies are the most beautiful. I'm no different. He always was a pretty baby.


And every child has their awkward years. Z had an unnatural attachment to these suspenders. I couldn't give them away when he outgrew them. They are in his treasure box in the attic as we speak.

After the suspenders came the cowboy years. This was Halloween, but it felt like cheating because he would put this outfit on any given day, six-shooters and all.

Then came the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle days. I bought this sweater three times so that he always had one that fit him. This black and white photo doesn't quite do justice to the chicken pox blisters all over his face. He couldn't go to school, so he was my assistant on a photo shoot downtown. Clearly he was feeling better.


And then we were six. That's baby Mosby. You can tell by Z's face how thrilled he is with this particular birthday present. Neither of them stayed that little for very long.

The baseball years were fun. T was so proud of his big brother! Z told me once, sometime around when this picture was taken, that he was going to play professional baseball and make FIVE MILLION DOLLARS.

Jump ahead a couple of years. He's entering the awkward teenage years here, but Ingrid didn't have to ask him twice to dance. Can you blame him? He has always had good taste in women.

Look back again for a moment to a three-year old Z on training wheels. I was so glad to find this particular shot too, considering the cyclist he has grown up to be. Those first few miles on the bike path must have been formative. . .

. . . since this is where that led to in about 10 years.


There were good days and bad. This one was particularly bad, but he had a good story to tell.

He moved on to the mohawk days of his life. When he was teased about his choice of coif, he would reply, "These are my wild hair days!" So true.

You're a big goof-ball, beautiful boy, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Can't wait for you to get home for the holidays. I miss you, you big lug. Happy 21st birthday.