Birthday Party

I am jealous of my daughter. She's got perfect hair and eyes and a stunning complexion. Not fair. And now, she has better toys than I do.

Seriously. My dad built her an entire miniature kitchen for her birthday. There's a refrigerator, a sink, and a range/oven. There are real working lights in the fridge and oven. The fridge has a crisper drawer, the oven has removable baking racks. The tiny utensils my mother-in-law gave her are in way better shape than my real ones. She has stainless steel cookware, people. And itty-bitty oven mitts. And wooden knives with which to cut up her wooden veggies. (Have you seen those things? The ones with the pieces velcro'd together so you really can cut them open? SO JEALOUS!!!!)

DH and I gave her a tricycle. She can't quite pedal on her own, but the model we picked out has a removable steering handle so an adult can push it from behind. Of course, between the rain we had all weekend and the houseful of grown-ups ready to bow to her every whim, she now believes that this is a prime way to get up and down our hallway.

"Mommy turn!" she said to me at one point yesterday.

"Oh, honey, I don't think I'll fit on your bike," I said (NAIVE MOMMY!).

She turned around and gestured impatiently at the handle. "No, Mommy turn push!"

Mm-hmmmm. You're lucky you're so cute, sweets.