The year I turned 41, the husband bought me a nice, little cake -- just enough for the five of us. The boys were not yet eating ridiculous amounts of food, as they would in the near future. I'm sure there was a present too, but I can't remember what that was. The hubby brings the cake out and they all sing to me, joyously off tune. I blow out the lone candle, appreciative that no one tried to stuff the cake with an accurate count. As we finish, my youngest, then six, climbs out of his seat, walks to me and gently pats my head. "I’m sorry no one came to your party,” he says, then turns and follows his brothers outside to play.
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