1-2-3-4!

My baby had a birthday. No, not the baby growing (and leeching my will to live) within me. And no, not Lucas (who, consequently is also leeching my will to live - but that's another blog post entirely).

I mean my Miles. He believes that he's now a big boy, but I've made him promise over and over to be my baby forever. I've confessed my undying love and affection for this kid before, and friends who know him personally just can't help but feel the same way about him. He's intelligent, thoughtful, polite, and hysterical. Every day after Matt leaves for work, Miles will cuddle up to me and tell me in his most important voice, "Don't worry mom, I'm the man of the house now."

Happy Birthday, big man!

Shame on me.

I think it's obvious that I've been in quite the blog funk lately. I apologize, but don't actually feel badly about it. It's not as though my blog is wildly popular with people chomping at the bit to read my entries, so the entries will continue to come as I feel like it. So there!

Anyway! I had a birthday. It's official. I've reached the dark ages middle ages. I'm 30. And while I'm okay with that in theory, I certainly don't feel 30. I don't even really feel 20. Alas, the calendar tells the truth.

I had Matt snap some pictures of me on my birthday. And I had delusions of grandeur about showing you pictures of me from 25 and 20 and maybe even 15. But again, lazy.


My skin doesn't actually look all mottled as it appears in this picture. At least, I don't THINK it does. I'm often wrong.

Matt told me to be sexy. If this is my sexy face, I'm scared for him.

A cautionary tale

Let me preface this story with an apology. We've been to the beach 6ish times this summer and this was the first (and last time we'll probably go this year) time I took the camera. You're not missing much. Sand. Water. Sun. You get the picture, right?

So, on to the story.
My sister, Rachel was in town and so we decided to head to the beach. It's the free-est thing we can take out-of-towners to do. And it's fun. Unless you're anal retentive about getting sand on you/in your car like a certain someone I'm married to. I digress.

The kids are actually really great at the beach. They play in the waves. They play in the sand. We have a couple of kid-sized boogie boards, so we feel they're relatively safe. They eat a lot of snacks and if you're Lucas, some sand too.

The kid is slightly obsessed with the sand. Slightly.

He likes to play with it, and has been known to attempt to eat entire fistfuls. Must be the salty grittiness he's in love with.

He spends his entire time at the beach bouncing between playing in the sand/shallow water and eating snacks from the cooler. What you see above is a combination of sand, Cheetos, and snot. Delightful, eh?

He also likes to pretend he can do headstands. Or something. We're not sure why he started doing this. But needless to say, his head gets quite uh... sandy.

Toward the end of our beach visit, I managed to get all the kids together-ish for a picture.

And Lucas threw sand at everyone. Abbie's expression sorta says it all, doesn't it?
Then Lucas proceeded to do his "headstand." Please make note of impending wave.

Yeah, those waves. They're merciless.

And really, nothing stings more than salt water and sand in your eyes.

Moral of this story:
a. no headstands on the beach
2. throwing sand will come back to bite you in the butt.
c. i have the cutest kids