Ah, birthdays. My youngest daughter turned 6 yesterday. 6. Like, now she needs 2 hands to show people how old she is. I’m struggling with this just a bit.
We had a birthday party for Bria on Saturday. Invited the whole class, 3 kids came. The theme was Frozen. Yeah, I know, shock. I found a 4’9″ tall inflatable Elsa balloon, and got Bria an Anna costume to wear. All was good, Bria was thrilled with party, guests, gifts, cake, etc.
There’s one kid at every birthday party. That ONE kid that you seriously think they were raised by wolves. You also gain a decent idea of why wild animals eat their young. This particular little demon pointed out to Bria that she only had 3 kids at her party. Repeatedly. This demon also refused to leave the circle when she was “out” during hot potato. Meanwhile, Dad just sat there completely absorbed in his phone and said absolutely nothing. And, suddenly, it all makes sense.
More birthday stories coming soon. My oldest daughter turns 15 on Friday. Yeah. Don’t even get me started on that one.