We always called our kids by their first initial. Still do, for that matter. First there was a B, then a Q, then finally a T. When I first moved to Newberg I got a kick out of looking for a BQT license plate, which, after years of looking, finally appeared up in North Seattle. Now they’re a dime a dozen right here in our little town.


Tomorrow my baby T turns 34 years old. Don’t worry, he’s used to hearing me refer to him as my baby. I suppose I’d stop if it really bothered him. I guess by the time you’re 34 you’ve grown past being embarrassed by your mother’s loving attention. You might not even care if she were to post a picture like this one…

T & B.jpg

…and let her gush over that heavenly blond mop and the sweetness of her sons’ shared affection.

B & T.jpg

My boys.jpg

Happy birthday, T.
(What do you remember about the day you were born?)

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