We celebrated Frankie's third birthday a few days early. It was confusing for her since we had a party on Thursday, but people called to wish her a Happy Birthday on Saturday. She kept asking me, "I am three? Really, Mom?" with a very skeptical look.
Her party was uncomplicated: pizza, salad, cake and ice cream. She had three guests: her best boyfriends, Elliott, Evan, and Andrew. The presents followed a distinct theme: Thomas the Tank Engine.
Per the request she had voiced, oh, 85,000 times in the last six months, her father and I made a "Gordon" cake. For those of you without small boys or butch girls in your life, Gordon is big blue train with a superiority complex. For some reason, he is Frankie's perennial favorite. Dean and I, two project perfectionists, actually managed to work together to produce a reasonable fascimile of Gordon WITHOUT ANY instances in which we smeared blue frosting into one another's eyes:
Then Frankie and I decorated. Her handiwork is displayed on the chandelier:
A picture of the birthday girl ("My guests have arrived, Mom? They have? Yeah, Mom?"):
Do I know how to throw a party or what? Look at the rolicking good time these two small guests are having:
A tiny sadist, Frankie screams in delight at the prospect of stabbing Gordon's eyes for the first slice:
And what is party without a little post-meal dancing in your Thomas pajamas?