Yesterday was Number 5’s birthday.

And it was Number 6’s birthday.

We didn’t have a big party.

But we did celebrate.

We had ice cream cones for lunch.

In our bathing suits.

And we made a mess.

And we were psyched.

We went for a swim.

Although playing in the dirty water that backwashed out of the pool was more fun than actually going in the pool.

Each kid got one present.

Nothing major.

Opening them was a team effort.

Then a little salon action with one of the new presents,

compliments of Number 4.

The birthday boy and girl each got his and her own cake.

They weren’t fancy.

They were made from a box.

But they were made with love.

Oh.

And they tasted pretty effing good.

Plus,

they had sprinkles,

which make everything awesome.

They each got to make their own wish,

blow out their own candle,

and do whatever the hell they wanted to their own cake.

We had a nice, little, family party.

I was feeling a little guilty that I hadn’t made it into a bigger deal.

But at the end of the night, as I smiled across the table at Number 6,

He looked at me,

and,

in his cute little I-can’t-pronounce-my-“R’s-yet-voice,

he said,

unprompted,

“Mommy.

I had a weally fun bothday.”

I didn’t think I was going to get a present yesterday.

But I sure did.

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