Happy Whatever...

Mike had a birthday last week. Since we were only in the same room while awake for a total of about five minutes during that time, we didn't get to celebrate the event at all. This meant that a cake covered in chocolate sat in this house untouched and taunting me for days.



This weekend, when I couldn't take the lack of chocolatey goodness in my mouth any longer, we drug our sick kid out of her crib, propped her on the couch and forced her to celebrate her dad's birthday ("Look happy!").



My normally birthday obsessed kid was obviously ill. She didn't sing "Happy Birthday". She didn't beg for a slice of cake. She didn't demand to wear a birthday hat. She didn't even point at the candles. In fact, all she did was sit in that very spot on the couch and puke. Yeah. Happy birthday, dad.

Oh, of course we have a picture of the kid and the puke, and I came so close to posting it right here in this very spot. But, then I remembered that I'd be breaking at least six different rules of etiquette (in addition to the other five this post has already violated), so I'll save that photo for Sarah's teen years when I'll need every advantage I can get.