Jack is 4!

And what exactly does that mean?

It means that I can finally cut his sandwiches in FOUR pieces instead of three.


I reminded him throughout the day that it was his birthday and that he was now four years old. This is how the conversations went. All. day. long.:

Me: Do you know what day it is today?
Jack: YEAH! It's my birthday!
Me: That's right! How old are you?
Jack: I'm three.
Me: No. It's your birthday which means you're four!
Jack: No. I'm not four until I eat my cake.

I guess he's probably right. He WAS born at 8:10pm. Right around the time we ate birthday cake.

The cake. Ah. The cake. With baited breath you wait, eager to see the masterpiece I affectionately call.....

"The Birthday Cake".

I shall refer to it as a "she" as it was temperamental, unstable, and had a mind of its her own. The cake whos frosting oozed down her sides and puddled at that bottom because of the 115 degree heat. She wasn't exactly archetectually sound. Held up by toothpicks placed just about every inch throughout. Kind of like a "cake bra". But, in the end, it worked. Jack loved it and thought it was "cool". And really, that's all that matters.