More fun than a barrel of monkeys

Yesterday the baby turned one and I don’t know about you, but I am so not impressed that she can’t clean up her room, which is really our room, or help carry in the groceries yet. What a lazy-ass baby.

She got a bunch of new toys that required assembly. If I knew she was this good with a drill, I would’ve asked her to help Carl build our dining room table.

Instead, that project, along with eight other projects, sit in the middle of our living room. And I wonder when Architectural Digest will ever call me?

I gave the baby some cake. She giggled for a few minutes and got frosting in her ears – it’s the only way to really enjoy cake. When I gave her more, she shook her head vigoursly and swatted the plate away. Guess she doesn’t appreciate a good whip cream frosting. Her loss. I ate the rest of her slice for her because that’s what good moms do. My love handles thank her.

The 9-year-old and 7-year-old showed the baby how to play with her toys and when I say showed I mean, they reveled in the awesomeness of the Elefun and played with the baby’s new toys. Later on, the two older kids got into a fight over the Elefun and wrestled one another on the floor until I broke it up by yelling, which resulted in laughter and totally ignoring me. That’s how authority figures get it done.

Birthdays are exhausting.

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