On turning 5 . . .
It all began with a girl. She turned 5. Actually turned 5 years old. This particular age holds significant meaning: kindergarten, cooties, reading, tag at recess, school buses etc.
But, since this post is about the birthday I guess will define what 5 years old means in this regard. 5 years old for Kate means that as soon as all guests were present, every little female immediately filed upstairs, raided Kate's closet, and changed clothes.
5 years old means that Ryan and I had to wax eloquent on the singularity of celebrating your birthday in the same month as the commencement of the Olympic Games, and therefore, convince her that her birthday should be themed accordingly. "Don't worry," we said, "there would be plenty of opportunities to "princessify" subsequent birthdays." She was only marginally convinced.
Mix the aforementioned desires of the 5 year old, with those of the parents and you get little girls running foot races in princess dresses.
On turning 30 . . . .
Fortunately his 30 years have been good ones and each of the 30 balloons hanging above his bed contained notes that reminded him of the particulars of those years. Kate wrote some, I wrote some for Rob, and I wrote some for me. Without giving Ryan away, his reaction was priceless, and led me to believe this birthday idea struck gold. Added bonus: I won serious sneaky points when I maneuvered a ladder and two snickering little kids into our bedroom and taped 30 balloons to the ceiling without rousing the man.
There, see that face, that is Ryan beaming. It's a little shrouded by jet lag, Ryan's own awareness of a camera, and the fact that it is a photograph. But he is beaming. Ahhhh, it feels good to see someone you love feel good.
Plus, each little note could not come out until a balloon was popped. Everyone loved that.
This is one of my favorite pictures from the day. Capture the moment.
Oh, and just after this picture was taken, we got blinds. Glorious. Now I don't have to crawl on the floor to get from the shower to the closet.
On the Olympics . . .
Not a birthday, but so celebratory none-the-less.
Two facts: we don't own a TV, and the Olympics aired this summer. This was a dilemma, so we rented a TV for the time of the Olympics and now we don't own a TV anymore. I am fully aware of how weird all of that is. Weirdness aside, I think the Olympics are one of the only justifiable television events out there. So amazing, moving, and inspiring. We loved every minute of our rented Olympic TV time. And we celebrated with our friends at a fun party they hosted.
On turning 3 . . .
This face spontaneously appeared the day before Robby turned three, stuck around for about one month, and has since gone. Don't know what inspired it, don't know why it left. (Maybe it has something to do with wanting to drive a monster truck) This is often how I feel when I try to logic through the behavior of a three year old. It did make me smile though.
After enjoying a lovely breakfast in bed (crib) with Kate, Robby got to bust through his door in rare, NFL-celebratory fashion, through the crepe paper.
After a energy zapping morning Robby needed to refuel and replenish those electrolytes. Following the footsteps of many great athletes, Robby prefers to hydrate with pickle juice.
Happy day for a little man, 3 years of age.