My plan was to write about the Northern Lights this week.  I should be writing about the Northern Lights right now – about how I had to coerce my eight-year-old into experiencing something magical and when I tried to get him to go out the second night his response was, “No, I was amazed enough yesterday.”  Instead, however, we have a situation ongoing at our house and I feel compelled to enter it into the written record.

As you know, Kyle’s birthday was on May 5.  On May 3, Eight and I went to the grocery store to get a few finishing items for his birthday cake.  We were walking the baking aisle in search of whipped chocolate frosting when Eight happened upon the candle section.

“Oh, Dad needs this,” he said, pushing aside the sparkly numbers and the novelty skinny candles in order to grab a multi-colored plastic tulip.  “Look, it plays ‘Happy Birthday’ and opens into a beaaauuutttiiifffuuul flower.”

“Are you sure Dad NEEDS that?”  I said, eyeballing the box, which was roughly the width of a tennis ball can.  “Maybe Dad needs these candy letters instead.”

“No,” Eight said.  “He needs one and I need one.”  He grabbed a second candle in support of his own birthday on May 15.

“Okay, I guess he needs it,” I said.

Here’s a fact about Kyle: he hates the “Happy Birthday” song.  How much does he hate the “Happy Birthday” song?  Well, we went out to dinner with some friends and the waitress brought him over a slice of cake and sang the song and Kyle made me eat the first three bites because that was how long it took for him to be un-annoyed by that song. 

Why does he hate it?  No one, including Kyle, knows.  If you ask him he’ll give you a different reason every time: It’s boring, he doesn’t like the tune, it’s copyrighted, it takes too long, it’s offensive to people who can’t sing, etc.  I’ve sung him the “Happy Birthday” song maybe four times in our marriage – twice when we were newlyweds and I thought he was joking, and twice when our kids were little and they didn’t understand birthdays without the “Happy Birthday” song.  The rest of the time we either sang a random song (my parents are partial to ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow”; our twelve-year-old once sang “Take Me Out to the Ballgame”) or we simply lit the candles and waited for him to blow them out.

This doesn’t mean he won’t sing the song for other people; he has sung it for 100% of our children’s birthdays, for example.  He just doesn’t want it sung to him.  He’s funny and thoughtful and doesn’t leave the seat up in the bathroom; we’ll give him this one quirk.

Eight and I baked the cake.  We frosted the cake. And, when it came time to serve the cake, we stuck that giant tulip candle in the middle of it and lit the fuse.

The candle started playing “Happy Birthday” in the slow, electronic sounds that only a $5 grocery birthday candle could – similar to those novelty keychain sound machines that were popular in the 90s.  After the first few metallic bongs of the song, the flower began to turn and slowly open, revealing a series of flower petals topped with tiny candles.

“Oooooooh,” Eight said.

“Yes, ooh,” I said, looking at Kyle.  “Isn’t that nice that Eight picked that out for you?”

“…Yes,” Kyle said, staring hard into my eyes as the “Happy Birthday” song continued to slooowly play.  “Thank you.”

Finally, the song ended, and he blew out candles.  We all cheered, the candle (and 50% of the frosting because that sucker was huge) was removed from the cake and deposited on the workbench in the garage because I was worried it would light the garbage can on fire (don’t ask), and we ate the cake without another word of the goings-on in the “Happy Birthday” world.

That was a Sunday.  On Monday, I went out to the garage to go to work and found the candle playing brightly.

“I guess it’s still Dad’s birthday,” I told Eight.

“I guess it IS still Dad’s birthday,” Eight said, elated.  “Is that how birthdays work?”

“In this case, sure,” I said.

The candle was playing by the time we got home, and it was playing the next morning when I left for work.  When I got home at the end of the workday on Tuesday, however, it was gone.

“The candle finally did it, huh?”  I asked Kyle when I walked in the door.  “Birthday’s birthdayed?”

“No,” he said, staring off into the distance.  “I put it in the fridge because it was driving me crazy.”

I went out to the garage and opened the drink fridge.  Sure enough, the candle was sitting on the top shelf, bing-bonging the “Happy Birthday” song as freshly as the day it was lit.  I took a video and texted it to our friend.

“No worries,” he said.  “It’s probably not demon possessed.”

“Probably,” Kyle replied.

The candle continued singing the next night, and the next night, and the next night after that.  On Saturday, we went to the aforementioned friend’s house for a graduation party.

“Congratulations!”  I said when we got there.

“Thank you!”  He said.  “I was worried when I didn’t hear from you yesterday that the candle became sentient and possessed the fridge.”

“Haha,” I said.  “It’s probably done by now.”

Kyle sniffed.  “It’s not done,” he said.  “It’s still going.”

Sure enough, when I went and checked the fridge the next morning, the candle was singing away.  It had lost its signature verve, however, instead holding each note for a solid 3 to 4 seconds like a church pipe organ.

“Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaa,” Eight sang along next to me, “Pppppppppppppp-yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy bbbbbbbbb-iiiiiiiiiiii-rrrrrrrrrrrr-ttttttttttt-hhhhhhhhhhh…”

“Okay,” I said, stopping him. 

On the “D” sound, the candle hit a sour note.

“That’s creepy,” Eight said.

“No, it’s not creepy,” I lied, closing the door and making a mental note to Google search a young priest and an old priest who specialize in plastic flowers.  “It’s just a song.”

“A creepy song,” Eight said.  “What are we going to do if it’s still playing on MY birthday?  Can we still light my candle?”

“Yes,” I said.  “But we are going to throw your candle away right after we’re done with it.”

“Never had this problem with ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” Kyle sniffed, eating the last bit of cake.

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If you’re reading this on Wednesday, Eight is now Nine. He was the sweetest, roly-poly-iest baby in the world, and the photo above is one of my favorites of him even though he isn’t doing his signature Marshmallow Man smile. When we took this photo, Twelve (the bigger kid) was in desperate need of a nap and a puppy and a cookie, and the entire time he was freaking out Nine just sat there on the table being sweet and fat.

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This week on North Dakota Today, we talked about celebrating the arts and experiences of our nation’s servicemen and women, and a free and easy activity for those looking for a reason to get outside. (Valley News Live)

Oh, man, I love fostering and adoption stories so much. In this case, Grand Forks’ Keera and Duane Sullivan have fostered 50 children and adopted 9. (Grand Forks Herald)

This isn’t in North Dakota, but it’s definitely in the spirit of North Dakota Nice: Sonya Davis, a custodian in West Virginia, crocheted 550 flowers for elementary students to give to their mothers for Mother’s Day. (Valley News Live)

Fargo’s Aiden Hoff is reaching for the stars. (Fargo Forum)

Speaking of Fargo, Fargo’s Captain Brian Kesselring will be on the big, big, big screen in a documentary about The Blue Angels. (WDAY)

For the 10th straight year, North Dakotans have proven we really, really like college hockey. (The Rink Live)

Kyle and his friends, Corey and Kelly, have a podcast called North Dakota After Dark where they talk about youth hockey in North Dakota.  The latest episode is up and is an interview with hockey legend Gino Gasparini.  Check it out. Bonus: you can watch it on YouTube. (North Dakota After Dark)

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