Last week, something terrible happened. Recently shorn and looking somewhat respectable, August had the gall to turn two.

He woke up not realizing that it was a special day, that something had shifted, that things would never be the same. He ate his banana without joy.

“You’re two,” I told him. “This is big.”

The information took a moment to sink in.

But as it did, I could see the gears turning.

A moment later, something clicked. “Two…yes…this is big. I can do something with this.”

Later that day, some balloons arrived (from Grandpa John and Grandma Judy)  to seal the deal.

If you are not aware, August loves balloons. Loves them like a snowman loves the cold.

My mom made a shirt to mark the occasion.

It suited him perfectly—in size and implication. Suddenly aware of a whole new realm of possibility, his chest swelled, his shoulders grew broader, his inimitable squeal grew an octave more shrill.

We’re in for a long, loud, wonderful year.