Hippo birdie two ewe

We celebrated M's birthday tonight, two days late due to a bout with the stomach flu that hit our house on his actual birthday. What a bummer--the poor guy was pleading for mercy on the cold bathroom floor the night before his 32nd birthday. C had it, too, and I've never seen him request a nap before, or fall asleep on the couch, for that matter. Baby T and I remain untouched by the dreaded virus, protected in our own little mother-infant bubble.

So, tonight's party was a celebration of life and health. We had sushi (take-out, of course), and I did manage to make a cake for M. C had fun putting the candles on the cake and watching me light them. No sooner did we stop singing "Happy Birthday" did C claim the first piece of cake. No sir, my dear son...this is not about you. This is about your daddy, and he will get the first piece. It feels good to be able to say that to my self-absorbed two-year-old and wonder how much of that he gets. I'm sure God feels like that all the time with me: Does she really understand that it is not about her at all? Probably not. Maybe someday I'll get it...

Anyway, happy birthday to the amazing man who shares my home and life and children with me. I pray for lots more candles on our cakes together.