It was Bump's birthday on Sunday and I got him . . . absolutely nothing.
I didn't even bake him a cake. Anne came to visit, asked if she could bring anything, and I imposed upon her to pick up a cake at the store. So, if it weren't for the kindness of my friends, all Bump would have to show for his 37th year on the planet is an ice cream cake his mother bought before she left.
That and three children.
Anne even picked up some birthday candles, which was a good thing because 1) I'm not sure we had any and 2) if we did, I'm sure I wouldn't be able to find them.
Here's a new thing: we have reached the age where we need two boxes of candles.
(Bump's mom bought the three and the seven. Note the number of candles in one box. Doh!)
Speaking of boxers, Lumpyhead is finding this neighborhood to be a little tougher than our old one. At least his face is.
He tripped in the living room and landed on a toy, putting a dent in his cheek which turned into a pretty impressive shiner. At least his grandmother was watching him at the time.
Then she took him swimming in the backyard wading pool, and he got bitten by mosquitoes on his eyebrow and cheek, which turned into huge red welts.
Then Lumpyhead shoved Mr. Potato Head's nose up his own nose - giving himself a nosebleed. Oh, then he ran into a doorframe and put another bruise in the middle of his forehead, creating a backwards purple "j" on his face.
Maybe now he'll stop being such a smartass.