Freestone's Big Birthday

He may look older in this picture, because of the handlebars, but Freestone is 11.  We all wondered how eleven was going to go down, because Freestone has developed a phobia about the number 11.  He hates it when two or more 1's are together.  Weird, I know.  He freaks out when it's 1:11, not to mention 11:11.  So we weren't sure if he was going to vaporize or melt or what, when his own age hit the dreaded two-ones-side-by-side.

It all went well, except that it started way too early.  We hit McDonald's at 6 for breakfast before violin/piano lessons.

Freestone is notoriously reticent about violin, preferring to feign apathy rather than admit that he enjoys any aspect of practicing.  In actual fact, he's too smart to fail at such a mundane task as mastering an instrument, so despite his best intentions to the contrary, he is doing quite well.  And he secretly likes his lessons, mostly because I make sure he's somewhat prepared for them each week, and because McDonald's is part of the deal.  We need fuel for music.

 Lunch was procured at Papa Murphy's; pizza is Freestone's favorite thing in the world.

 Pizza party at Coco and Bill's!  We needed their oven.  Did you know our double ovens have both been out for oh, six months or more?  Apparently, we don't cook often enough to really be bothered by not having an oven.  We mean to get them replaced, but 1. When?  and 2. Do you realize how many plane tickets you can buy for the price of an oven?  We might become raw foodists...when we get back from whatever trip we go on instead of buying ovens.

 I like to plan; I'm a planner.  Freestone, not so much.  With recital week (you doomed yourself, buddy, by being born early), Free couldn't wrap his head around party plans.  One text from Sarah mid-afternoon, and suddenly, Freestone's birthday included a couldn't-be-more-perfect Cherry Hill "party" with Henry, Josh and a box of crackers.  As you can see, Freestone couldn't have been more pleased.  As for me, it was a relaxing break in between trip to Weber for staging.  I even felt summer in the air!

 Freestone wanted to have fish fingers and custard for dinner, as per an episode of Dr. Who where the doctor ate those things.  We didn't have time to do that, so the birthday kid settled for razzleberry pie from the Pie Pantry.  Already cooked, so that's a bonus!

 Sibling rendition of Happy Birthday, complete with each kid criticizing another kid for their lack of singing ability, tempo, intonation or phrasing.  Sheesh.  These kids are brutal.

 What a way to end your birthday!  Surrounded by 500 girls, singing "Let It Go" with a magician.  Wow, that sounds weirder than it really was.  The dancers are entertained by a magician while they wait for their turn to go onstage.  Is Clytie a genius or what?

 Backstage, waiting for Trio.  I have loved having this boy in my ballet class this year.  He is a great kid, funny and smart and smart-alecky.  There is something precious about this age of boy.  It is such an ephemeral stage, one blink and it's gone, and you have an adolescent.  I'm not quite ready for that, so I try to take in the boyishness of this pre-gangly, post-chubby boy, and lock into my memory all of the wonderfulness that he is.