Happy Bir$%#th&@day, Tyler.

No, that's not me cussing. Although I could have.

We celebrated Tyler's birthday tonight, one more time. Busy calendars kept us from partying with Robb's side of the family, and since I am personally all about s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g out the birthday celebration, today was one more opportunity to blow out some candles and open some presents.

Since it has indeed been a while since he turned two officially, Tucker said, "It's Tyler's birthday again? Oh, Tyler, happy birthday! You're three now!" Not quite. He's just two. Again.

I once professed my love for all things with decorative frosting, and while I still covet the abilities of my faves on the Food Network, my need to personally decorate my children's birthday cakes is a hobby of my past. In the end, it takes like nine hours for someone of my novice status, and that's just too long for anything at all in this season of my life. I'd rather spring the twenty bucks and let someone else have the cramped hands and the frosting stains at the end of the day.

Plus, there's just nothing wrong with some old school DQ.

(Tyler carefully chose this cake from the freezer showcase. With my power of persuasive influence, I led him carefully away from the cake with a giant ladybug - too girly - or a combination of hearts and skulls - too weird.)

When the moment of grandeur arrived, I assumed my performance as combined Mommy and Hostess Extraordinaire. My sister-in-law assumed her role as photographer, and for that I will be forever thankful for the following documented play-by-play.

Drum roll, please.... (feel free to sing along..)

Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you!

Happy Birthday, dear Tyler, Happy Birthday to you!

And then Tucker wanted to pluck a candle and suck off the frosting.

(Who could blame him?)

And then Tyler wanted to do the same with the second and last candle on the cake.

And I am all about sibling fairness and equality whenever possible.

But then, I watched Tyler putting the smoking wick into his mouth, instead of the frosted end of the candle.

I lurched to help him...

...and I dropped the cake.

Leave it to me.

Every good mother has to do it once, so I'm told.

Suddenly, the act of serving this cake became a team effort.

Break out the pancake spatula.

(May I just say, in this very moment, I was most thankful I had not indeed invested the nine hours to make this cake. I would have done something terribly memorable, I'm sure.)

And so, the title of this blog post is not me cussing.

It is representative of the top of the cake, after The Fall.

Tyler was incredulous.

My cake? What did you do to my cake?

It's written all over his face.

Thankfully, smashed cake is delicious.

Perhaps more so.