We were celebrating my husband’s 40th birthday in our backyard. His parents were there. Our friends. Family. Way more people than I could realistically handle.
I was running around nonstop — refilling drinks, bringing out snacks, making sure the kids had enough sugar and didn’t destroy anything, all while trying to hold conversations. Our 4-year-old son, Will, was crawling under the tables with the other kids, giggling like crazy. His knees were green from the grass.
At one point, I noticed his hands. Filthy. I pulled him out and took him inside to wash up. I was about to bring out the cake — I wanted him clean before that.But in the bathroom, he wouldn’t stop laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
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