Today was Shakespeare's birthday and Magda decided to celebrate--because she knows I like Shakespeare (sort of) and she considers herself an expert on birthdays, having had four of them already--by making him a nice card. It started out well, with her disappearing to her art table with all of her crayons and a large piece of paper.
Then she asked me for an envelope and stamps. Wait a minute.
I was like, "Honey, where is it you think you're sending it?" And she was like, "To Shakespeare. It's his birthday, Mommy." (Duh.)
Me--Okay, but you know he's dead, right? He was born 450 years ago and he died 398 years ago. Remember we learned that he died on his own birthday? So he's definitely dead.
Magda--I know that, Mommy. He died on his birthday. But on his actual birthday, like when he was born, he wasn't dead yet. He was only a baby. I'm sending the card to Baby Shakespeare.
I admit I didn't have an answer for that. I felt kind of like Allie Brosh when she found a letter she had written as a child to her future self, asking her future self to please write back.
In the end I told Magda we'd comprise and send it "to the internet" instead. Here's what she made:
|The red things are presents. I asked Magda what was in them and she said, "I don't know. He hasn't opened them yet." Honestly, I think sometimes she must be frustrated by my inability to get things.|
That's Shakespeare on the left, wearing a ruff. Magda told me that the person on the right is someone wearing a party hat and preparing to blow out the candles on Shakespeare's birthday cake before he gets a chance to, which Magda explained was "very aggrevating." Note that the only other person at Shakespeare's birthday party is someone specifically trying to piss him off.
Then again, he did die on his birthday, so it's not like this is the worst thing that ever happened to him at a birthday party.
Happy Birthday, Baby Shakespeare!