The first party: At Grandma and Poppa's, with this decadent beauty made by Grandma herself.
And the week continued, with no small fanfare. Every morning was joyful, as we drew closer to his big day. I planned small celebrations at the park, at McDonald's, in our living room, at bath time, and everywhere in between. (Because we would have been to all those places anyway, but it's so much more fun when we're going because it's someone's birthday.)
I think we sang Happy Birthday no less than 47 times. So that by the time his day arrived, he kept delaying it. "No, don't sing yet. Not yet." Perhaps he had had his fill.
See this beautiful 'second' cake? It was for Tyler's 'second' party, and this picture was taken just before I dropped the cake down the garage steps. Yep. I did. Oh, and I did something similar last year.
Only this year, there were no pictures. Because the party had not started yet, and I was not up to taking pictures of my own folly. Repeated folly.
(Another reason it's a good idea to extend the celebration: it leaves room for maternal error and recovery.)
The boys recovered nicely from my little episode. Somehow, and I really don't know how, Tyler ended up with frosting down the entire right leg of his jeans. He didn't mind; he tasted it and pronounced it good.
Tucker merely said, "Mommy, please don't touch the cake anymore." Fair enough, kiddo.
And yet, two years of the same behavior makes it far too close to tradition. And certainly established as legendary. I think I will forever be remembered for this twice occurence. I can foresee my boys at their wedding reception. Someone I birthed will hold a microphone in his hand and say: "See that cake over there? The three-tiered one with the waterfall? Please. Don't anyone let my mother near it."
Again I say: Fair enough.
Now, we have sung, jumped, unwrapped, eaten, and blown out the candles to welcome another year of Tyler.
And I'd do it all again. (Except for, you know, that one part.)
Happy Birthday, my sweet Tyler boy. Here's to you and every single thing about your freckled face, dimpled cheeks, silly jokes, funny faces, and spirit spilling over with joy.
Here's to you, and here's to three.