Super Tripp is 5
"Who has a birthday?" I exclaim, stepping into my daughter's living room, a few shopping bags tucked under my arms.
"I do!" Ollie shouts. "I have a birfday!" He thrusts his small hand in the air.
"It's my birthday," Tripp says, "Not yours, Ollie."
"But, I have a little something for Ollie too," I say quickly, watching a turbulent array of emotions flood the face of my youngest grandson.
I produce a box of melamine bowls, each decorated with colorful swirls representing a different planet.
"My bowls!" Ollie shouts. "My pwanets!"
"Maybe we can share, " Tripp suggests.
Ollie gets busy naming each planet: "Earf! Jupituh! Uranus!" and then stacks them in order, beginning with Mercury, which is closest to the sun. He explains that it takes Mars 88 days to orbit the sun. He's two and a half. His favorite planet is Saturn.
Tripp, the birthday boy, opens his presents: a planet matching game, a book of Greek Myths deemed "too scary for bedtime" by his mother, a stomp rocket, a book about saving sea turtles, and Geo Bingo.
As Tripp begins to place all the planet cards face down, his mother declares that there are too many pairs, and suggests each boy pick his favorites. All of the planet cards are Ollie's favorites. He needs his Jupituh.
Tripp and I start a game of Geo Bingo. After turning over a card, I read the name of a country such as South Africa, and Tripp scans his board looking for the matching yellow shape and using the first letters of the country's name as a clue. When I have 5 in a row and am poised to proclaim a win, a look from his mother makes me shut my mouth before any words escape.
"Mom," she reminds me, "He wins, not you."
Ollie abandons his game of appropriating all the plastic tubs of Play Doh to join us at the table. I roll Play Doh into a ball to make Saturn. "I need my rings!" Ollie tells me. I roll a series of snaky shapes and Ollie wraps them around Saturn, singing his planet song.
Dinner is tricky. Both boys eat apples. Katherine and I are having organic pizza. Tripp does not like pizza, because the sauce is spicy; even after it has been meticulously scraped off, the thought of it touching his lips makes his face crumple. Ollie likes pizza, but not cheese, so he will eat crust. They both eat clementines, but only if they are referred to as oranges. Tripp eats smoked salmon.
"Remember? I introduced him to it at Easter," I say.
"Yeah, thanks for that," my daughter responds. "He ate an entire package yesterday for breakfast. You owe me $36.50."
The theme for Tripp's birthday party is SUPER HEROES, so Katherine lets each boy put on a cape and chase each other until bedtime. The name of this game is "WAIT FOR MEEE!!"
*
At 6:30am on the following day, I bring croissants for breakfast. The boys are at play and their mother is finishing the capes for the birthday party. Each child will have a cape with his/her initial on the back. When Katherine holds up Lila's cape, Tripp is so overcome with love he has to dive beneath the dining room table.
Sadly, Tripp is sick. He has been dosed with Advil, which momentarily helps him to feel better. Well enough to don his cape and fly around the room in pursuit of Oliver.
"You have to rest," his mother says.
"I don't want to rest," Tripp moans. His eyes are ringed in light brown, his nose is drippy, and he coughs, carefully, into his elbow.
"You can't run," his mother says.
"I am feeling very sad," Tripp says, his chin dropping to his chest.
"How about you try walking slowly?" I suggest.
Tripp scuttles bent over in a tripod position as though playing wheelbarrow. "Like this?"
His mother is cutting felt circles. I am making Play Doh "neat" balls for Oliver to go with Play Doh pasta and spaghetti, which Ollie is mixing together with the planet cards from the match game in the glass bowl his mother has been using to cut circles.
Tripp is bleating, and his mother threatens to call the party off unless he takes a teaspoon of medicine.
"Call the party off," he says tearfully.
"Or we can go back to the doctor," his mother says.
"Go back to the doctor," Tripp says.
"This is ridiculous," his mother sighs. "Would you like some ice cream to take with the medicine?"
"Okay."
Ollie and I are fascinated. First Tripp takes a bite of ice cream, then a sip in which his tongue barely touches the medicine, if at all. The entire ritual takes 20 minutes.
Next we fill 14 goody bags. Tripp wants a yo-yo, and as I'm showing him how to use it, half of it falls on the floor.
"Oh, no!" he wails. "My yo-yo!"
"I want a yo-yo!" Ollie demands.
"They're kind of chintzy," I comment to Tripp. "That's why yours broke."
Ollie's yo-yo falls to the floor in two pieces.
I start telling Katherine an interesting story about golf, and she says, "I really can't have you talking to me right now."
The boys and I discuss the Andromeda Galaxy, Little Ghost Nebula, comets, the Hubble Telescope, the Mars Rover, and the atmosphere.
It's only 8:20am. The party isn't for hours.
*
