Evan is three years old today. Same age as Shae. I remember the day he was born. We didn't know our daughter yet. It's weird to think about that, but there it is. At the time I was almost angry about it, because our friends who got married 5 years after we did had children already, and it didn't seem fair. I have long since gotten over it. I blame the fertility hormones, but I really want to believe that being a parent has made me a better person.
Anyway. Evan's birthday party was over the weekend, and everyone had a lovely time. Shae especially, even though we had to publicly sit her in time out -- TWICE! -- because of the geometric escalation of bad behavior when you get when you put numerous small children in the same place at the same time.
It was a bad scene for a little while -- it's embarrassing to have to punish your kid in front of strangers, even though it is something that needed to be done (and honestly, I am sure other parents had to do likewise and felt similarly) -- but Shae got over it pretty quickly because there was a Moon Bounce. Mommy is still recovering. I think perhaps I should have had a couple of extra daiquiris.
Aaaaaaand once again I have turned a post about Someone Else's Story into something that is all about me. Again. The point is: we went to Evan's birthday party, and it was good, the end.
Happy birthday, little Canadian buddy. Go out and light some sparklers and play some hockey or something. Say "eh?" all day. Ask your Dad for some Molson. Throw a parade. Just be happy, and have a great one.