My baby...he's thirty.

Thirty years ago on March 7th.

Fourteen years ago.

And today.

He's thirty.

My son is a man that I am proud of.

He says he still feels like a kid though.

(I hope he always does...)

He and his bride chose to celebrate the milestone by taking a ski weekend in Jackson Hole.

We got to take care of their two kids, Meowsie, age 10, and Cheeto, who is 9 months old while they were gone.

A simple task it was, just a matter of pouring some kibble in a bowl and petting them for a few minutes.
We consider this a training period in our lives, and hope someday we will be trusted with grandkids that don't have triangular shaped ears and fluffy tails.

On the actual birthday day, Jeff and Rachel drove back to SLC and came to to our place for a dinner.

Their youngest, Cheeto, came with them.
Cheeto wasn't expected, but is always quite welcomed.

(Tiggie peered around the corner at Cheeto, then headed downstairs to try to forget what he had just seen. We have no idea what Hart did. At least both of them behaved themselves around their young nephew.)

Bernie planned, shopped for and prepared the birthday meal.

Oh so good!

Dessert was a meringue with a cream sauce and fresh fruits.

A perfect finish after a fish/brochette/garlic/tomato based meal.

Cheeto entertained us by chasing a cat toy while we caught up on life: What is going on at church, work, house hunting for them, domestic experiences, the economy.

How our cats wake us up in the morning.

How our cats are insane.

Our whole family talks constantly about our cats.
Tiggie and Cessa each have blogs, and Cheeto appears regularly on Facebook.
When we call each other, it is understood that mostly we will be discussing the latest thing our cats have done, and how cute their latest pictures were.

Cheeto in the jungle.

Cheeto on the hunt. I think his face looks like a little orange pansy.

And I think how his whiskers all point forward is cute, cute, cute.

Gramps and Rachel and Cheeto saying farewell after a fine evening.

Yes, all my children are now in their thirties.

How can that be when most days I still feel like I am only about thirty four years old myself?

And why don't they make that cute little graph thingie from Moms that are my age?

You know the ones I am talking about; that say Oscar is now 2 years, 4 months and 14 days old, with a cute little graphic of a tyke riding a train or a pony or some such, like this one: Maybe I could have one with a cute graphic of a blond haired boy skiing or riding a motorcycle, balancing a laptop and a mortgage, and underneath today it would say:

Today Jeffrey Bernard is 30 years old.

The next day it would say:

Jeffrey Bernard is 30 years and 1 day old.

I'd really like that for each of my kids.

Because you never ever get over how amazing it is to have a child.

It is an on going blessing.

Each day, each month, each year, and each decade.

(And even now, at age 30, he is still saying things that makes me laugh.

Ever heard of 13 bean soup, or maybe 14 bean soup, or something like that?

I used to make that kind of soup all the time.

Tonight Jeff told me he never could stand my 43 kinds of bean soup recipe. I laughed. And am writing it down here to remember it.)