My birthday is coming up this next week, and birthdays generally mean presents. (Yay! Presents!) But when you have a 4-year-old who a.) likes to give presents, but, b.) cannot keep a secret to save his life, things get interesting.
My husband went out yesterday and bought something for me that I had specifically asked for: a pair of bar stools. Since bar stools are not traditionally an easy thing to wrap and we’re short on good gift hiding space, he brought them into the house directly from the car and said, “Here you go. Did I get the right ones?” Yes. Hooray!
The Hobbit was napping when this gift giving took place and when he awoke, he discovered bar stools. Bar stools! I can climb on these! Hey, wait a minute… where did these come from and why? I explained and he wanted additional confirmation that these were indeed for my birthday. However, there was a second present, one whose contents he was privy to but had been told not to divulge. He had to be reminded several times not to spill the beans. The anticipation was more than he could handle. It was like trying not to think about elephants after being told not to think about elephants.
This morning, the early arrival of the bar stool gift was still weighing on his mind. He climbed up one, sat on it, and had a thoughtful look on his face. He said, “So these are for your birthday?”
“So I can tell you about these stools… but I can’t tell you about the pajamas?”
There goes the surprise. I ended up getting to open that gift early as well since keeping that information bottled up for another few days wasn’t going to happen. I do believe I am safe in the knowledge that I will never have a surprise birthday party planned by my husband and son. I think that level of secrecy and excitement would cause them both to explode.