I try to spend time with my children alone, as often as possible. I try to sneak a moment whispering to the oldest one in the kitchen about skateboarding and girls.  I corner the little one in the basement and tackle him with tickles until he squeals loud enough for me to run away. While all of these shared moments are near and dear to my heart, I find my time with my middle son, Jakob, the most satisfying. Most parents will adorably reply that they have no favorite child, this is a lie. Undoubtedly there is one child in your brood that you feel is most like you, or most like the other person they came from. In this case, Jakob is a tiny little replica of his mommy. He loves music, the way that I do, though he has basically no rhythm while dancing, another trait we share very closely. He is strong, but mostly quiet. Watching the world from behind a thin veil of mystiq. He is, after all, his mothers son. Over the years I have written about Jakob I have made it relatively clear that on most occassions, whenever it is the two of us whispering quietly together about everything from Tommy Pickles to the bass of Alice Cooper’s Hey Stupid, he has been my favorite. We have an unspoken connection. While my other two boys remain blissfully unaware of my proclivity towards the one child that has turned out more like me, less like their father, I am certain that Jakob feels the same pull that I do. No matter the mood, or time of day, No matter the activity or drama, Jakob is always right by my side to offer me just one more hug and I never resist the urge to lean down, plant my face in the nape of his sweet musty neck, and drink him in just like he were a baby all over again. Jakob is, however, not a baby anymore. Today, the author of every Jake-ism known, turns six. The turning point from child to boy. He still talks openly about the surprise birthday party I threw him for his fourth birthday. A batman cake, complete from a specialized baker who did such a fantastic job that he still remembers and begs to be served the bust of batman for every meal. We had streamers, and a pinata filled to the brim with special candy for his special diet. His friends waited patiently in the yard as he drove up with grandma. Surprise, Jakob is Four! Two years later, a vast economic downturn and the loss of not one, but two jobs in a single day has brought us to another birthday milestone, but with far less birthday funds. Jakob will turn six today, but with no batman cake and no pinata. Weighing the option of telling Baby Daddy I told you so, as gratifying as that would be, for two years ago marking his birthday such an elaborate party I knew would never be matched again, we find ourselves unable to match it. uh hem……I told you so. This year we have decided to let Jakob try his hand at making his own batman cake. With reruns of charm city cakes ready and waiting on the tv box, and a houseful of cake mix and sprinkles and fondant and flour and sugar and…. well…. you get the point. Instead of paying a hundred dollars for a batman cake we would slice open in a moments notice, I spent fifty on cake crap that we could mold into batman, or a house or maybe just a pile of mussed up cake pieces drenched in frosting. It may not be the perfect birthday, it may not stick out in his perfect little memory for years to come, But I am guessing that he will enjoy it just as much. Today, my little boy, the one who aptly carries not only my most striking of physical characteristics, but the sunny disposition I held as a youth as well, turns another year older. Another year closer to the monumental moment when his mommy is no longer the first woman in his life. The epic time when he no longer hugs me on a whim when he no longer sits quietly at the breakfast table to wait for someone else to rise from sleep to pour milk on his cereal. He is turning in to a young man, a strong willed and considerate young man. And he will always be my favorite.

Happy Birthday Jakob!

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