Charlie is turning 11 tomorrow. His birthday party with friends was this past weekend. The older he gets, the lower and lower maintenance his parties become. In reply to what he wanted to eat at his sleepover party with just 3 guests, he requested: chicken fingers and fries (“Your fries are the best, Mom!” The boy knows that the benefits of rubbing my ego. He’s advanced!) All he wanted for his birthday cake was a chocolate cake with cherry filling between the layers, “and balloons on top!” Easy peasy. So what did I do? I complicated it, naturally. Why make a simple two layer cake when I could make a gargantuan 4-layer beast that nearly towered past the birthday boy’s face in the pictures? I ended up sending some cake home with each of his guests because it was just. too. much. Who knew?

Today, Lola and I went to the store to pick up a few things for Charlie’s actual-day-of-his-birthday celebration with just us family tomorrow. The birthday boy gets to choose the menu for the day, so he’s chosen to have crepes for breakfast (the surprise is that he’ll have them served to him in bed!) and for lunch: grilled chicken with a delicate herb sauce, mashed potatoes, garlic/ginger string beans and salad. I swear he isn’t old enough to order off the seniors’ menu. His tastebuds are advanced! While at the store, I couldn’t resist picking up a few extra treats to give to Charlie tomorrow morning. A bag of Bugles, some cookie sticks with chocolate sauce and Maltesers will do the trick until The Mister manages to get his real present from out-of-country. When we pulled up to the gate and Charlie bounded out of the house to help us with opening/closing the gate, I turned to Lola and sternly said, “Don’t say ANYTHING to Charlie about getting him anything at the store. Don’t even say that we got him a surprise or that there is a surprise. Just don’t talk about it at all. Okay? Okay?!??!!!!!!”

*rolling eyes*

*Big SIGH*

“YESSSSSSSS, Mommmmm. Okay, already! I won’t say anything!”

car door opens

“Charlie. We didn’t get you ANYTHING at the store!”

Seriously, Lola.  I’m definitely not telling her about the crepes in bed.