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We had Mikey’s fifth birthday party yesterday and it was a smashing success!  But talk about exhausted—all of us!  We had 25 of our friends and family spread throughout our little house and patio, watching several children under the age of five interact with each other.  I always worry about everyone enjoying themselves, but in the mounting chaos it was every man for himself as far as socializing went.  The kids were having so much fun playing, that I’m not sure any of them had cake.  I made cupcakes with gummy worms and cookie crumbs sprinkled on the frosting to look like earthworms in soil—yummy, cute and somewhat gross—perfect for a five-year old boy!

Finally, we opened gifts—I say “we” because the tornado that is my child trying to open, see and toss aside every present in record time, overlooked a couple.  That and I needed to know who gave what.  My children are “All American” in that they have fantastic luxury of not knowing what it’s like to be anything other than abundantly blessed.  They have “stuff” to ridiculous excess, because our friends and family are wildly generous with their gifts, and I’m a big sucker when it comes to buying my boys things.  It’s almost embarrassing to see how good everyone is to us!  We are very grateful to be so well-loved and cared for!

Hours of play, no nap, hopped up on sugar and it not being Pierce’s birthday, I was ready to put him to bed at 5 p.m.!  Mikey was playing with his new school buses, fire truck, legos, dinosaurs, ukulele, etc. and his little brother was trying to play, too, by taking the new toys and wandering off with them.  Of course, sharing wasn’t high on Michael’s list of priorities since he was just getting to know his new things. Predictably, my normally patient baby, creeping ever closer to the terrible twos was practicing his indignant yowl every time his big brother took away a toy.  At one point, I’m watching Pierce over the arm of the sofa rigid with frustration, mouth in a large ”O”, and this horrible, fingernails on a chalkboard squawk filling the room.  It was so obviously a temper tantrum that we sort of laughed, and then Daddy said “NO” in his firm, dad voice.  Funny how tantrums evolve into wounded tears seamlessly.   Naturally, my big tough “G” softened (probably too quickly) by scooping sad baby into his arms and cooing him back off the ledge.  Was it bedtime yet?  I was really done with this kid—his brother, too, but I had to make allowances for “birthday party day.”

Finally, Mikey passed out in our bed, only to wake up when we tried to move him.  He’s delightful when he wakes up…  I had to muscle him to his bed and read him one of his new books—“Bear in Underwear”, which, by the way, is really funny with silly illustrations.  Thankfully, it mellowed him out and he went back to sleep.  Then I threw the baby in his crib and ran out before he could try to Velcro himself to me.  Just kidding—he didn’t want to, but he went to sleep like a good boy after I changed his pants and made fun of the fact that he was very, very angry about being on the changing table.  I made such horrible angry faces at him when he started to squawk, that he would laugh, then scream (in anger) at the same time.  Finally, the laughter won, and we were friends again.

Two boys in bed by 7:30!  Time to veg…if I can keep myself from stressing over sending Michael to kindergarten on Monday.

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