Don't Tell Stupid Stories About Me

Yesterday was Zack's 24th birthday. I was going to write about him yesterday, but alas, I did not. And as I was considering what to post about him today, I was having trouble because he has rules about what gets posted. His rules are pretty much the same as Mike's and Jacob's. There is really only one rule. "Don't tell stupid stories about me."

But I'm a mom. All of my stories are sweet or poignant or tell of him doing something silly that only a mother would remember and love. I have millions of those stories. Millions I would love to tell, but I won't. I have embarrassing stories, stories of love and betrayal . . . dun-dun-dun. I have stories about how he wanted to have a different, "cooler" name than Zack. Stories about how when he grew up he was going to be a brain surgeon, or a professional basketball player, or the school janitor because they got to sleep in the janitor's closet at school.

Oh which one to tell . . . I guess I will tell the first story. The beginning story.

Zack has a way of doing things in his own time, in his own way. It is pointless to rush him into anything. That only frustrates him. You have to gently approach the idea, and then gradually let him work his way into it. That has been true from the beginning. The very beginning.

You see, he was supposed to be born on September 15th, 1984. That was his original due date. But that date came and went. In fact, 5 weeks passed before Zack would make his beautiful entrance into the world. 5 weeks late. Weighing in at 9 pounds and eleven ounces. That's also like Zack. When he does decide it's time to do something, he DOES IT. :)

All that to say, Happy Birthday Zack. In the words of Shauna Maness, "You rock harder than all of the 80's hair bands, and that's hard."