I opened Mina’s birthday post with the phrase “holy fucking shit balls”, which is kinda hard to beat, really, and I am just going to use that as my excuse for taking nearly a month to write this birthday post.

Yes, it was the pressure of trying to beat that opening phrase that did it, and not at all the fact that you are living in the eye of a complete fucking cyclone right now. And not at ALL because I am lazy.

We haven’t been very good at hiding it, either, even though we try really, really hard.

But I have to say, that with everything else going on, you make my day so much brighter in so many, immeasurable ways, in that way that only Julesy can.

Because holy fuck, you are one funny kid. Not just in that way that all kids are precocious, funny and quotable, but in that “Not everybody gets me and I am OK with that” kind of way. You love the in-joke, the repetitive, especially if it involves the “Squirrel!” joke from “Up”.

You’ll be having a conversation, sitting there talking to me and you’ll just say “Squirrel!”.

And yes, I laugh every time. And then I do it, and we start again. And that’s our day.

And even though you’re funny, we have been going through a bit of a thing at the moment where we are a bit concerned about those fixations: what is normal, what is healthy and along with some other little things, we are a bit concerned.

Through friends, your Dad and a shit load of watching, I have become aware of Asperger’s. And honestly? Even though I initially thought that you might be Aspergic, after having really observed you for the last period of time, I honestly don’t think it’s the case.

Because you care too much. You express empathy in a way that an Aspergic 4 year old wouldn’t. You are genuinely caring and loving towards me, and haven’t yet learned that that is the expected thing, so I am not inclined to believe it without just seeing how we go.

Because sometimes? Kids are a bit different form other kids. You are shy with other kids, take a long time to adjust to change and really love your routine. But, I dunno… I just don’t see it.

I don’t really know what normal boys are like, to be honest, so I am kind of flying blind here (you can just be a practice run for Moo :)). The male role models in my family aren’t exactly stellar, and your Dad, as wonderful as he is, has issues of his own. But you know what? Honestly, if you are Aspergic, or even if you are completely normal, you would be wise to follow your Dad’s example of how to be a man.

I want to take a moment to talk to you about the person that will be your biggest influence, inform your world view, and hopefully be your guide through the inevitable talk (that I want NOTHING to do with) about male bodily fluids, Playboy magazines and car-things – but also about the good stuff like how to treat girls,  how to talk to your mother and sister and how to take the blame when the Feds hit us up for downloading Dexter.

Your Dad’s ego & spirit have copped a pretty big flogging this year. Actually,  everyone’s has really, but having to watch your Dad be bullied, called a liar, harassed and belittled, simply for the crime of being injured at work, is something that I am kind of glad happened when you were too young to remember.

It sucks. There’s not much else to say about it.

But something that I want you to know (because I honestly don’t know how this is going to end – whether our marriage is going to survive, or he is!), is that your Dad went to work every single day at 5:30am. He came home in the middle of the day for a few hours and helped me look after you & Moo. Then he went back to work until around 6-7pm, sometimes longer, to help support the family. And then he’d come home and help me.

He worked those hours when you were a baby, when I was building a business and only earning $10,000 a year in the process. He worked those hours when I was sick. He worked those hours throughout so much of your life, because I was building a business so I didn’t have to go back to work. And no matter what happens, I want this written here as a reminder of the selfless, caring, honourable man your father is.

He was good at his job. So good, in fact, that when a driver pulled out in front of him with only a couple of metres to spare, he managed to swerve a whole bus away from the car, avoid killing the driver, and injured himself in the process. He was so good at his job mostly because he’s a buttburger, but you know what? He’s the best kind of buttburger. He’s OUR buttburger.

And even if it turns out that you are, in fact a fellow buttburger, the same applies to you. We don’t love you in spite of how you are, we love you because of it… mostly because I never stop cracking up at the burger & butt jokes… but nonetheless… I hope as hell that you are like your Dad. But don’t tell him I told you.

The other thing that I wanted to talk about is the birth of your baby brother. I’ll admit, I had my doubts about how you’d cope with not being the baby, and as usual, I have underestimated you. How you are with your brother is indescribable – like – the initial shock of finding out Moo was a boy, even though I was SURE he was a girl – has melted away. Because now, I have my 2 boys. My 2 boys. Wow, that’s weird to say, but man, it’s something to behold.

You share your CARS with Angus, and he doesn’t fully appreciate how important that is, because your cars are the most important thing in the world to you right now. And you let him slobber all over them. You are such a great big brother, there are no words.

So you start Kindy next year, I am very nervous about it, but all we can do is hope for the best. I have a feeling it’s going to be OK, because I am starting to learn more about you. And you know, as my inevitably neurotic middle child, you’re actually kind of cool and you enrich my life in ways that are constantly surprising. And I will always have your back. Always.

I love the fact that you think haircuts are painful, that anything other than yoghurt is poison, that you run “like Dash” with a superhero shoulder lead-in (hilarious), that every morning I wake up to you running up and down and up and down the hallway. I love that you use half of my internet quota on youtube, that you are already computer and internet literate, and yet still call a drink a “wink” and Frank a “wank”, and Lightning McQueen “Lighting Irene”. I love that you are happy with the simplest of toys, and you like my attempts at cookies and cakes for your birthday, and that you think that me making you a Milo is a miracle to behold.

I love you Julesy, you’re wonderful just the way you are. Happy Birthday Rock Star.

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