This is the story of Blaine's (fake) birthday.

Every day Taylor was in Europe I told Blaine, "When Daddy comes home from Europe, it will be your birthday!" So when Blaine woke up on Monday morning I told him the good news: "It's your birthday!"

Taylor spent the whole day building Blaine's dream cake. A Winnie the Pooh cake.

(Raise your hand if you think Taylor should open a bakery.)

After a day full of anticipation, the cousins and friends began to arrive at the blue house.

Blaine was so excited that he blew out his candles before we sang. So we sang again. And he blew again.

Then Blaine said, "I'll eat you up!" while he ate his cake. (Have we read Where the Wild Things Are too many times? Is there such thing as reading Where the Wild Things Are too many times?) After the children ate cake and played in the sandbox, they shook the sand off their feet and marched into the living room for presents. The huddle moved with Blaine as he ripped open each package.

Everything was a hit. The pan flute, the fruit snacks, the magical fingerpaints, the matchbox plane, the play food (mine from 20 years ago, courtesy of my pack-rat mother, oh how I love her). (And I said "No presents!") The biggie: Blaine's first wheels.

After some riding around and a trip to the park, the children paraded out the door and headed for home.

Blaine cried because I told him he couldn't go with them.

So we built a mountain and climbed and jumped until it was time for bed. (Thank you kindly for not calling child services about my baby's sunburn.)

Then we kissed goodnight and wondered where the last three years went.

The end.