gifts

My child is turning three. THREE. This boggles my mind. We watched some videos of him from a year ago, and it was so sweet to hear his lisping voice that has now turned into a more confident version of Daddy Blake on helium.

(Side note: Blake wants for nothing. NOTHING. If you have to get him something, take us out to coffee and play with us. We'll enjoy it more than the toy he'll break or the clothes he'll refuse to wear or the book he'll obsess over and make me read daily and nightly and ever so rightly. Or, you know, whatever you want.)

I think I'm going to invite two other wee people and the requisite mommas and head to the McDonalds play area. It's a very special day, yes sir. Also, maybe sledding, and definitely cake. This birthday may have snuck up on me in a sneaky way, and the party may reflect that (but come on: sledding!), but if there's one thing I can do and do well, it's bake sweet things.

Back in high school, I would routinely torture my family (mostly Dad) by whipping up something lovely and delicious-smelling, then carting all of it off to some youth group function. Dad finally made a rule that I had to make TWO of any given thing - one to take and one to leave behind. He called me "Addie Crocker." I know, totally nerdy and cute, but it's true.

Making people fat must be one of my spiritual gifts, and who am I to turn down a gift given by the Lord God Almighty?