Birthday Parties are Fun at ANY Age; Even 18. Again.

We have been privy to Mother Nature's wardrobe change. She is doffing the rich varied greens of summer and donning the golds, reds and browns of autumn. She looks to be quite the Fashionista.

The reason for our opportunity to enjoy her 'runway appearance?' A birthday party which took place two hours from our home.

Michael Birdsong turned 43 over the weekend. He is our adopted son. He lives in a Group Home because he is considered "special needs." We just think of him as our Resident Character. He came to us 40 years ago and has been entertaining us ever since.

He's been obsessing about his Big Day since 2008.

This is nothing new. While he lived in a nursing home he designated himself the ad hoc "Card Guy" and made it his life's work to prepare a card for everybody's everything. Birthdays, anniversaries, Get Well Soon-you name it. He had a card for that. One year he took a card to the nurses' station and asked the people there if they wanted to sign it. Of course, they were delighted to participate. They put their John Henries on the page and he folded the card and pressed it into his fanny pack. Some thought to inquire who the card was for and he proudly announced "ME!"

Every year we wrangle about how OLD he should be. Since I proclaim to be 33-which nobody in their right mind believes now-I INSIST he should tell everyone he is 18. I rationalize this to him by reminding him that I am the mother and the mother gets to decide. He believes I am 33 but he will have none of the 18 business.

His dad and I took him to a nice place for lunch and presented him with a CD player. He was taken aback. He has always been into tapes but failed to note that it is now 2009 and CDs are the thing. I loaded the little machine with a CD of a church service and his face lit up as if in neon: "MOM! There's music on here...an some guy is talking to me!"

I don't know what was the best part for him; the CD with the guy or the humongous barbecued pork sandwich he ordered. Maybe it was that his root beer was in a bottomless glass and the waitress fussed over him each time she refilled it. Or it could be that his best part was the cheesecake that topped off his lunch.

The best part for me was hanging out with two of my favorite guys.

I'm so grateful for Energy Medicine. Without learning about that we may still be visiting Michael Birdsong in the nursing home.

Connie Baum