mom fails

I am not sure we’re fully over the birthdays yet. Maybe by August we will have recovered. I swore to no one in particular I would always make their cakes myself. That lasted two years and then this year I used box mix for both (although it turns out you can change some ingredients and pretend it’s home-made) but made myself hand-decorate them. Jonah hindered helped and everything tasted better than usual (because it was from a box). I’ve learned some lessons: like box tastes better when you’re not that skilled, not decorating with cream cheese frosting and how to order gel colors on-line. It’s kind of like I’m curing diseases here, to be honest. Pretty important stuff. Notify my student loan people (which is weird, because that’s actually their name: “Student Loan People.” Ugh).


But in the midst of all, we moved and traveled and then even though on Saturday we could tell Jonah was run down, we dragged the kids around to three different people’s houses for various happy reasons.

Welcome, baby Sofia, to Sarah and Andrea!

Christina wrote a book about lobster fishing in Maine!

Sunday then – Simon’s 1st birthday, a momentous occasion for this family – Jonah spent the entire day at the hospital for croup with Bryan in tow, and Simon and I did very little.

So Monday I was determined this family would have fun and celebrate Simon’s birthday, whether anyone liked it or not. So after Bryan got home too late from work and Simon was overtired, I forced everyone to sing Happy Birthday and blow out a candle. Simon wavered between confusion and misery. I have never seen a child enjoy cake and frosting less. And then as I huffed around and cleaned up the mess, I realized we had just taken video and photos of this HAPPY occasion that WE HAVE RECORDED FOR ALL TIME with a “3” candle instead of a “1”. Obviously it’s all Bryan’s fault somehow.

“3” candle

Now I am headed to Ibiza for Trish’s hen weekend with ten girls. You might say I am looking forward to it. Even with my crap memory, I can distinctly remember a million years ago watching E! Wild On… Ibiza on tv (remember that series?) and thinking to myself “a person like me will never go to a place like that.” It turns out it’s not all foam parties and drugs. Apparently 95% of it is families and normal Euros taking a pretty vaca.

But obviously I am going to three foam parties. Discount at the door for c-section scars.


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