In the kitchen, on the counter, on a birthday cake – chocolate, from scratch – there are two candles. Squared. In the living room, on the carpet – blue, sometimes still pronounced boo – there is a tent.

Furnishings: blankets and cushions. Scaffolding: books. The Legos are exclusively for entertainment purposes. The model airplane, for transportation. Flights of fancy. Come nightfall, flashlight for warmth, milk for sustenance, animal crackers for courage.

The other animals – blue rabbit and honey bear, a little frayed, somewhat clean, quite soft – have also settled in, ready for adventure. The biggest of their little lives yet. Today is the day. We’re off on a camping trip in the wild, wide living room! Let’s begin!

“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”
The old moon asked.

Anywhere you want, little ones. Anything.

To the moon!

To start, and then?

The park!

where there will be sun, air, and geese. To feed them. Crust from a slice of pizza.

Pizza! For breakfast! In bed!

To the bed! Jumping on the bed. The big bed! Through the roof, over the borders and oceans to visit your grandparents.

To the forest, the jungle! Where Bear and Rabbit’s families live. To June, already. Vast fields of poppies, strawberries, scarlet. To the beach! To touch sand, real white sand. To touch… friends again. Play tag. To hug and recognize smells, remember heartbeats, patterns of breath.

To ride those scooters, not from kitchen to living room. To ride trains, not toy sets, not under the white table. To ride planes like those that take off into the starry sky, each night, across the bedroom window, in that wild wide world outside.

All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam—

As many wishes as you want, little ones. I will take notes, in colour. Every one of the 120 Crayola offers:

Vivid Tangerine. Fuzzy Wuzzy Brown. Macaroni and Cheese. Dandelion. Canary. Robin Egg Blue. One day, I’ll show you a robin. Caribbean Green. One day, we’ll go there. Pacific Blue. Sky Blue. Wild Blue Yonder. We’ll see Pink Flamingos, have Pink Sherbet, Wild Watermelon, Cotton Candy on a Purple Mountain. Mountain Meadow. Meadow Green. Forest Green. On a real camping trip, I promise you,

and me.

‘T was all so pretty a sail it seemed
As if it could not be,
And some folks thought ‘t was a dream they’d dreamed

I promise it’s not a dream. I promise I’ll do my best to build that world. I promise stories, a lifetime of stories and jazz. I promise the rickety, gorgeously echoey piano we own. And I promise symphony orchestras in concert halls. I promise talking animal crackers, sock puppet shows each night. And the theater. Cinema. Ballets. Art exhibitions. Museums.

I promise every page in the atlas, every window seat. I promise one day we’ll build tents by  rivers, under pine trees. I promise adventure, and cake. I’ll teach you how to bake, and read, and tie your shoes, and the constellations. The rest is not necessary.

In fact, I’ll unknow the rest and you’ll teach me how to see this world in kaleidoscope: wild, wide, dazzling. Real. How to love it, be two years old in it, constantly. Happy birthday, M. and C.