YOU CAN'T HAVE A PARACHUTE FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY

It was Entomologist's seventh birthday on Sunday.

We called our grandson on Sunday to sing Happy Birthday to him. After our charming rendition I asked him what he wanted for his birthday. "Do you want to go to Build a Bear? Do you want a toy? A surprise? Do you want a pair of shoes." That last sentence was a joke. No seven-year-old wants a pair of shoes for his birthday.

"What?" he said, "a parachute!"

"A parachute?" I asked. "You want a parachute?"

"Yah," he said, "I want a parachute."

"Where'd you get the idea of a parachute?" I asked.

"You said, do I want a parachute?" He said.

"No, not a parachute. I said, 'Do you want a pair of shoes?'"

"I want a parachute! I could jump off the house."

"No, no," I said, "I said a pair of shoes. PAIR OF SHOES. It was a joke. A pair of shoes, not parachute. You can't jump off the house, you'd break your legs."

"I wouldn't break my legs. I'd have a parachute."

"Who's on first?" I thought.

I decided to drop the parachute dialogue. I told him to think about what he wanted for his birthday, to talk it over with his mom and dad and they could call me later. I didn't hear from them so I called on Monday.

"What did Entomologist decide on for his birthday?" I asked the Soap Queen.

"He says he wants a parachute. He says he wants to jump off the house. I told him he'd have to jump out of a plane, that he can't jump off the house. He'd get hurt. I don't know where he got the idea of a parachute."

I held my head in my hands. "It's my fault," I said in a tiny little voice. "I asked him if he wanted a pair of shoes and he misunderstood. It was a joke. A pair of shoes. He thought I said parachute and I coudn't make him understand." My worry gene kicked in. What if the kid jumps off the house with a homemade parachute because Grandma wouldn't buy him a real one? It will be my fault.

"Oh," Soap Queen said, forgiving me for my stupidity. "Well, then. I'll ask him what he wants and call you back."

When she called back she said he wanted to go to Build a Bear and so we did.

He chose the Husky.
The "stuffing" girl had him rub the heart that was going in his dog, put it on his muscles so his dog would have strength, rub it on his forehead for brains, on his legs so his dog would run fast and then she said, "Give the heart a kiss so he will know you love him." Entomologist couldn't kiss the heart. He just grinned. And grinned. And grinned.
Finally, when no one was looking he gave it a quick kiss. She put the heart inside and sewed the Husky up.
Look at he eyes on that kid. Couldn't you just hug him?


He gives his dog a "fluff" bath.
Picks out a dog house for him to sleep in at night. And then sits down to give him a name. He pulled his chin. It helps when thinking. Finally his mom suggested Wolfy and Wolfy it was. Typing in Wolfy's name.
He shows his baby brother. "See Wolfy?"

I wonder how old I have to be before I can come to Build a Bear?

Carrying Wolfy and his dog house to the car.

Deseret Book probably gets lots of customers who come in their back door on the way to Build a Bear and buy a book or two on the way out. Phil's motto: I've never met a book I didn't like.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY dear grandson. And many more.

We love you very much!