Where the Wild Things Are

"Is this really all rice and wheat?!"

Happy Birthday Baby Boy!

And as a heads up to other moms:  Birthday Crowns--the best craft ever.  Works for most any age, requires little preparation--just some poster board and foam stickers and tape--keeps kids busy for quite a while, and gives them something to take home. Joseph blew out his two candles with the help of some friends and according to Chris, this cake required the accompaniment of far less milk than my usual cakes.  I suppose that's a compliment.  Thanks honey. Last year after cake Joseph required a hose-down on the deck.  This year was cool and rainy so he ended up in the shower, and for quite a different reason.  After dessert I stripped Joseph down to just his diaper and let him run off to play with the other kids.  We adults were chatting and cleaning up the kitchen when Joseph walked up to me with outstretched hand wanting it to be wiped off.  As I bent with a wet dish towel the thought flickered through my mind, "I'm pretty sure none of that cake frosting was grayish-brown."  In my mili-second of hesitation I heard the dreaded words, "Ahh, is that p--?!," followed by a scream from my friend Tara, "Where did it come from!"  My first response was, "Seriously Tara.  Where did it come from?  You've got two boys of your own.  If you don't know the answer to that question your husband is WAY too helpful."  Well, it wasn't frosting, I'll tell you that.  I gave Chris the option of kid or carpet, he chose carpet and I took Joseph up to the shower.  And this is why he opened his presents in his pajamas :). Ever since helping Grammy with the tools in the basement he has been trying to hammer stuff.  Uh, I wouldn't get to close there, Will. Our fresh and clean baby finished off his party with his favorite activity.  Wrestling with Daddy. And now my baby is a toddler.  So I suppose I shouldn't call him a baby any more.  But I think I will.  And I think I will still let him have his rag and paci, and not mind that he still talks mostly in signs and screams rather than words.  I think I will still bring him into bed with me rather than let him cry it out, and I will still cling to his wispy baby hair, and I'm pretty sure I will still let him have a bowl of cheerios for dinner.  Because I have living proof that whether I push it on him or not, he will learn to talk, he will give up his paci, he will eventually have to get his hair cut, and before I know it he will get on a bus and go someplace without me.  So, for now, two years old or no, he is still my baby.