A clean kitchen floor, a chocolate-iced cake, & balloons. It was indeed the makings of a splendid birthday brunch.

Coming of age. On Friday, Isaac rang in his new year of life in the most decadent of fashions. Before his friends arrived, he mentioned something about his insatiable appetite for destroying a cupcake, perhaps two cupcakes, in his bare hands. His parents agreed that this was the only way to initiate his coming of age. Unfortunately, Isaac did not stick to his word about helping to clean up the aftermath of his good time.
Zippity dooh-dah. Just thinking about the events of this past weekend makes me wanna squeal like a little boy and dance like I've never danced before. It's good to be one.

He tried guacamole in a mexican restaurant a few months back. It made his tongue curl. But now that his taste buds are more distinguished, Isaac has found many purposes for his father's all-time favorite food. He decided it's best used as a hand salve or an eyebrow mousse.

As we're watching a news program on Sunday morning, we both get teary-eyed as a father of a 9/11 victim says that he still calls his daughter's cellphone and leaves messages for her on a regular basis. Everyday, we are reminded of how fortunate we are to still be here together.

Then Labor Day came and went... And we shed what was left of our summer skin.
Get in position. I'll be the boy singing drunkenly into the meshy kitchen utensil. And you'll be the girl hiding your face in shame.
And then I'll ask to borrow your pillbottle mic. Sure, I can understand why you would rather keep it for yourself. Something about pills and my singing don't exactly mix.