Originally published at this woman’s work. Please leave any comments there.

He’s a whopping 11 years old now, goodness. That makes me 11 years older than 27! (Noah’s birthday — even more than my own birthday — drives my current age home.)

We’re having a low-key day having had some celebrating this weekend when family etc. were more available. Plus Madison has a terrible snot-nose and probably needs to rest a bit so it doesn’t turn into something truly awful. And I’ve got some looming deadlines. But! It’s a birthday and must not be totally boring so again, we have some plans.

I want to write a big long mushy post about Noah and give you a picture of his inner-workings but the older he gets, the less bloggable he is because he’s becoming so darn private. I’ll only tell you that tween though he is (and so often infuriating) he’s also gracious, kind, friendly, confident, smart, compassionate, funny and altogether a wonderful son and good person. He’s also not bad-looking, having inherited his father’s handsome genes. Not that my side of the family is wanting for attractive people but really, his dad’s family came to the party better equipped.

Happy Birthday, Noah!

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