January birthdays catch me off guard. Having barely ferried the bins of ornaments to the basement for their hibernation, my reserves for celebration are depleted. And yet, there are reasons to party. Two of our beloved children came into my arms in the weeks after Christmas.

Benjamin is one of them. I relied on our go-to plan, which is to invite his favorite people for lunch at the local bakery. Fortunately, I remembered to reserve the small room in the back, as the place was hopping that Saturday. The three guests came through the door, to the relief of my son, whose eyes were glued to it. John did the part of host while I stood in line and ordered. 

Ben was in his element. He opened their thoughtful gifts, which included Star Wars and Zelda socks, and a Wawa card. He was so content to be outnumbered by girls three to one, he barely took a bite of his quesadilla. Ben forgets to ask them what is going on in their lives, so I inquired about classes and families. We have shared history, so it's easy.

When we got home, Benjamin continued to discuss the events of the day. He was as happy as he knows how to be. 

His brother happened to be at Disneyworld last week, and sent updates to the family. Then he wondered. 

"Should we be planning a trip for Ben to go to Disney?" 

Ben loved it when we went twenty years ago. He jumped up and down so much when he met Buzz I thought he would fall over. With style. 

The siblings weighed in on the chat, which does not include Ben, about ideas for gifts. Their suggestions were generous. 

I had a thought which I did not share, and am still mulling over. In that moment, Ben's heart was full. He had basked in the attention of three friends who are content to spend an hour talking about the errant behavior of a dog, who has become their scapegoat. They told jokes, and were quiet, with none of the compulsion that some of us feel to cram every inch of air time with words. 

I think it was enough. Which is something I could try on for size.