Happy Birthday to my Littlest One!

She's complaining already about having the worst birthday EVER. It's not even 10:00 yet. I think she just doesn't know how to have fun.

The day started out with BURNT poptarts.
Then I sang happy birthday to her and changed the lyrics:

Happy Birthday to you.
I made you a poo.
It came out my bumhole.
Happy Birthday to you.

She had asked me for a muffin and I said I was all out of muffin mix and she asked me again and I said that the only way to make one was, well, sing the song.

So next it's swimming lessons, a trip to Walmart to buy her her first camera, then to Grandpa's house to take pictures of snakes, eat shoofly pie, and listen to Grandpa's lists of things he has to do now that he's retired:

"And on this road there's 6 more beech trees to cut, and then 4 maples on this other road, and I took 10 hydringinias to whoosey's house but he wants 6 more of the bellhopfinators, and then I've got to split 24 cords of wood, and once when I was five, you know the old parking lot across from whoever's house in that town by the border . . . well I ran into that old man who was the third cousin of the neighbor of that lady who . . ."

I'll be in the basement doing laundry and missing all the fun.

Happy Birthday Gina!