Thursday, October 11, 2007
46
How sweet to have reached a stage where, without any prompting from their dad, my kids spring from their beds on October 11, shouting, "Happy Birthday, Mommy!" We spent the afternoon baking and icing a chocolate cake for the occasion. Concerned that 46 flaming candles might trigger the fire alarm, I scripted "46" with 23 candles. Al Gore would have been proud.
The boys struggled to contain themselves until the evening celebration, leaving fingerprints too numerous to count in the icing. When at last the candles were lit and the climactic moment arrived, Boo exclaimed: "Mommy, you're Sixty-Four!"
"No, sweetheart. Just forty-six."
Max chimed in. "So you'll still need our help to blow out the candles!"
It took all three of us, but somehow we managed to stanch the blaze.
The boys struggled to contain themselves until the evening celebration, leaving fingerprints too numerous to count in the icing. When at last the candles were lit and the climactic moment arrived, Boo exclaimed: "Mommy, you're Sixty-Four!"
"No, sweetheart. Just forty-six."
Max chimed in. "So you'll still need our help to blow out the candles!"
It took all three of us, but somehow we managed to stanch the blaze.
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