Me: "Who has the best seat in the house, me or daddy?"

Adam: "Well, Daddy's is nice, but yours is best. Your's is squishier."

Thursday, March 27, 2014

Another Trip Around the Sun

My sweetie had a birthday today.
One year better.
The layers of days and smiles and tears all pile up.
We never know what a new year will bring.

The Middles (Ellie and Tess) and the Littles (Jonah-boy and Nat) and I had gone shopping for gifts.  I don't recommend being outnumbered four to one in a public emporium.  The weight of experience carries with it a decrease in speed, or maybe it was just Mall-ing it after 8pm that had caught up with me.  I was tired before we even got started.  

We stumbled into the "As Seen on TV" store, and I wasn't thrilled to be there.  If you want to see 3 kids go nuts, show them every goofy gadget ever sold by a loudmouthed Brit during a commercial break from, The Clapper to Chia Obama.  But it was not just the visual chaos of the store mixed with the zeal of my lil' shoppers that had me feeling off; the last time I was in this store, the shop owner committed a crime against humanity (well, actually my vanity).  He called me a grandma.

Specifically, my kid's grandma.

It was painful, shocking even.  Feeling ancient is one thing, it's entirely another being accused of it by a Mall-bound peddler-man.  Worse yet, when I explained they were indeed mine, he hadn't believed me!  So, the other day when Tessa told me she wanted to get the ultra-cool french-fry cutter for her daddy that she had seen in THAT store, I had to swallow my wounded pride.  Gulp.  Let's just say that put me WAY over my calories for the day, but I did it.  We left with the fry cutter and a gadget for washing car windows.  The peddler man was happy, and not once did he accuse me of being these kids' grandmother.  I guess he knew a grandma would be too wise to try and shop with four kids.

Guy recently got asked if he was a grandpa, too.  I guess we are reaching that age.  I never knew the 40's were the beginning of the geriatric years.  At least he is, and will always be, a year and a half older than me.  Wow. 
 He's ooooold.

I made Guy a cake.  Lots of layers, like him.  Very sweet, again, him.  Kinda complicated... him.

Oh, and I made it from scratch, every last itch of it.  I mean inch (see what I did there? Scratch, itch... never mind).  It was a lovely 4 layer chiffon, with mouse, cheesecake and ganache fillings, and a yum-o buttercream frosting.  Now you might think that that is too rich, and you'd be right.  When you have a rich life, why not have cake to match.

(and in case you were counting candles and things didn't add up, Guy is not 33.  We were out of candles, so I scrounged up four single candles and if you add the two threes together that's six...46.  Yes, I know it is a stretch.  Math was never my best subject.  Maybe if they had involved more chocolate...)

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