Ronan turns 11 today. He was born Tuesday, November 3rd, 1998 at 4:45 in the morning. He was supposed to be delivered by scheduled C section on the following Friday, but as usual, he does what he wants when he wants to do it.
Ronan would not let anyone kiss him from the age of 3 to about a year ago. If anyone tried, he would wipe it off and throw it away. I used to worry he might do that on his wedding day.
He’s not afraid of much. Big dogs, steep ski slopes, the dark? Bring it on. He can handle it.
However
He cried at “Where the Wild Things Are”.
He has an incredible ear for accents. He speaks perfect French, convincing Italian, passable Spanish, and does an unbelievable Christopher Walken impersonation.
His favourite colour is orange.
We call him Ro. We also call him Roro, Rosencrantz, Rhode Island, Roosevelt, and Rhododendron.
He writes short stories. For fun. The latest one is called “The Kindergarten Kids versus the Extra-Terrestrials”.
He wants to learn how to cook, but gets bored peeling potatoes and chopping stuff, saying “Call me when it gets interesting”. For his birthday dinner tonight, he wants filet mignon. Natch.
He can almost moonwalk.
He has brown eyes, and is left-handed, unlike anyone else in the family, including the milkman.
He can memorize song lyrics almost instantaneously.
His brother is 6 year older and about 85 pounds heavier, but Ro still thinks he can take him.
He makes me laugh til I cry.
Happy Birthday Ro. As K.W. says, “I’ll eat you up I love you so”.