Three

Small Boy turned three last Wednesday. We had a few of his playmates over for a party - I meant to invite at least two more friends over but couldn't get my act together to do it, which, judging from the chaos we had with just the four of them, may have been a good thing in the long run. Maybe less a party than a playdate with cupcakes and balloons, during which I discovered that my son does not like frosting. Really? A son of mine? How is that even possible? I mean, the only purpose to cakes and cupcakes is to serve as a conduit for frosting, right?


There was playing and running around and some sharing of toys and some less than good sharing of toys. Small Boy was serenaded in three languages - English, German and a solo in Dutch courtesy of Dutch Friend - and there were cupcakes with and without frosting. There were flowers, and presents, and my son turned three. After everybody left we had his favorite dinner - take out pizza with viele viele schwarze Oliven (lots and lots of black olives) - and at bed time he told me "thank you for my lovely birthday." Yes, he actually said lovely.


Three.




What's that song? Who knows where the time goes, who knows where the time goes.