Happy birthday to B.

Today was my older son’s birthday. R. took D. up to Portland for a five-hour afternoon visit; I sent along an apple pie. They ate pizza in one restaurant and dessert in another (an Asian one owned by some of B’s friends; D. didn’t know which type of Asian, though). Maybe because he’s 13 and everyone else was over 30, D. pretty much tuned out the conversation and then dozed all the way back, so he didn’t have anything interesting to tell me about B. or the day. (Sure, some teens would be interested. I probably would have been. Not D, though.)