I am currently sneak-eating said three year old's birthday cake for breakfast while his little sister sneak-plays with his Thomas the Train Legos, and the ex-birthday boy plays outside in his new kiddie pool with his new water gun while reeking of citronella (because we live in a swamp and every step you take in our sloshy backyard births a cloud of mosquitos.) I feel like we all made out pretty well.
Yesterday was kind of perfect. Jake and I spent the morning reading books and making his cake complete with an extra tablespoon of baking soda that he insisted on when my back was turned. The children took blissfully long naps in the afternoon.
Great day. Great day.
Me: What would you like for dinner on your birthday?
Me: What's your favorite thing to eat?
I extrapolated, and we went with hamburgers, corn on the cob, and watermelon.
It was a day visited by injury:
Jacob: What happened to your finger?
Jake: Mama was trying to close the door, but my hand was in the door and it was hurting and so she stopted trying to close the door. Then she put a bandaid on my finger so it can be healing.
Do I come out OK in this story?
Jake sang Happy Birthday to himself.
We partied hard with my brothers and The Bazin Chronicles.
>><<We opened presents.
Jake: It's all the toys from Target that we losted! They were all in dat brown paper!!!
I made Jake a shirt to match his dad's work shirts. He's obsessed with it.
I literally opened my eyes this morning to him standing by my bed wearing it. He said: "I love you so much, mama, for making me dis worker shirt."
Happy happy day it was.