Joshua Turns 40!

 




This is another of those kinda personal posts. But it was totally clouded in this morning, so no sunrise and no precise Kitchenhenge. Therefore, you get to share in the other big event of the day. Joshua's 40th birthday. (Well, unless you want to call the fact that his refrigerator died the big event.) We took him to Ponderosa for lunch to celebrate (the birthday, not the dead refrigerator).



Josh is the middle son, although he was the last to join the family. Here we all are, on February 4, 1977, when we first met him. He came to us with basically what you see here: the clothes on his back, a cat in a carrier, a huge cookie that his foster family helped him make for us, one paper grocery sack of toys (not pictured), and one suitcase of clothes. Oddly enough, the suitcase in the picture is not his. Funny how I just noticed that anomaly. I guess this one must belong to the social worker that traveled with him on the airplane.

Here is my all time favorite picture of Josh. In true grown-up guy fashion, he hates it, but that's ok. I'm the mom, and I get to like it anyway. It was his school picture in the fall of 1977, just about 7 months after joining our family.

We were going to buy him shoes today, but given the appliance issue, gave him the option of a used refrigerator. That was his choice, so we spent an hour hunting the area for a used one. No luck at all, but we've put in his name with all the charities, and asked to be called if any of the stores get one in. So after all that, we took him home with no shoes and a bar fridge from our storage shed.

Oh, the little munchkin being held by dad is Steve. We pick him up at the airport tomorrow night, so you might get to meet him in the next few days, if he doesn't object. Sam is on the right. We don't really see him any more.

The Path to My Kitchen Door

In summer the grass
Is worn down to the earth;
That sandy, brown scar
Makes the lawn lose its worth.

In fall, broken sticks
Dropped by dogs can be found:
A hazard for mowing
Or walking around.

In winter my lovely
Ski path's full of dents.
Large "post holes" from boot steps
Cause me to lament.

In spring, that brown stripe
Just refuses to green;
No matter the season
It always is seen.

I foolishly wish
For suburban green lawn.
But if that were mine,
Oh! What would be gone?

"Hi Mom, I just came
For the phone," or "I locked
Myself out again; Where's
The spare key? I forgot."

"Hey, thanks for the help,
Mom, I love you, you know.
Shall I bring in the paper,
Or shovel some snow?"

Should I trade a hug
For green carpet galore?
No. I'll cherish that path
To my kitchen door.

by J.H. Young (sharkbytes)

See My Low-Budget Black Taco Ad See The Point of My Quality Day for more pictures of Josh