How We Celebrated Clover
The day began early. Clover woke just after six, his soft little voice floating down the hall before his feet ever hit the floor, and I was out of bed in an instant, almost laughing at myself for how quickly I moved. I think I was more excited than he was in that moment, because I knew what was waiting for him just beyond the bedroom door, balloons bobbing quietly in the morning light, presents tucked neatly together, the unmistakable feeling of a day set apart.
He was happy when he saw it all, of course, but also different. I noticed it immediately. There was a calm to him, a patience that hadn’t quite been there before, as if something had shifted overnight. He let me make my coffee without fuss, watched carefully as I moved around the kitchen, and waited while I started on his favorite breakfast, pancakes and sausage, this time with candles pressed gently into the stack. He blew them out with focus and intention and made a wish. I made one too, silently, hoping the day would move slowly, that I could somehow stretch it, hold it longer than time ever allows.
Knowing I couldn’t control the pace of the day, I did the next best thing, I tended to myself so I could savor it. Vitamins, electrolytes, a quick shower while Clover played nearby with his new toys, checking in with me every so often, already fully immersed. This year felt different. I followed his rhythm completely. He knew exactly what he wanted, and what he wanted most was Toy Story, Buzz Lightyear and all his companions, and when he held them in his hands he said, very matter-of-factly, “These are very special toys.” The weight of that stopped me. That a three-year-old could feel that kind of meaning, that kind of gratitude, was beautiful and almost shocking all at once.
We got dressed and headed to his party, which felt especially fitting this year. A horse show was happening at the same time, and we were able to celebrate him there, surrounded by cowboy friends, familiar faces, and the hum of something I love deeply. I picked up his cake on the way, the most perfect cake, and remember thinking, almost superstitiously, that because the cake was perfect, the day would be too.
And it was.
Just before lighting the candles, the lights went out across the entire venue. Riders were showing, people were eating, talking, moving, and then suddenly, darkness. Pitch black. And yet, somehow, it became magical. Clover’s birthday candles glowed, lighting up our small corner of the world, illuminating balloons and faces like an old painting come to life. The children laughed, unbothered, delighted by the surprise. We tied balloons to each of them so they wouldn’t disappear into the dark, and they ran and played for hours, cake in hand, joy unfiltered.
It was special. A birthday that will stay with me, and most importantly with Clover.
The evening stretched on gently, toys spread across the floor, gifts loved immediately and thoroughly, and the day ended the way so many perfect days do, snuggled together on the sofa, Clover curled in close, watching his current favorite movie, Toy Story, his head heavy against me, three years old, already carrying so much wonder.
A day I will hold onto until the very end.