We had the first birthday party, and thanks to the pitchers of mojitos that were made, I survived. The first chunk of the day was a bugger though; it was pouring rain [I left two books outside, which are now ruined,] I realized that the balloons I got said Happy 8th birthday, and my daughters turning one, the dog we were pet sitting for busted out of our house, and some people canceled last minute feigning sickness. Still, it was a blast.

We got the dog back, my mom brought over appropriate balloons [after I attempted to cross off the 8 and put a heart in it's place,] the food was delivered by my caterer/bff who made a delicious array of salds, and sandwiches, and Paige didn’t spill anything on her polka dot dress [well, until we picked blackberries]and I w had FUN. She got some great books, and great outfits. She also got a tricycle [and one day, her feet may touch the peddles!] She ate her first cupcake, with homemade strawberry icing [with real strawberries!] and she got a billion hugs and kisses.

And it wasn’t outrageous like some kids parties; it was family [those who decided to come, which I'm still bitter about since Phil and I make an attempt to go to every goddamn party they have, but only THREE people, all in the same family showed up for Paige's party], and my friends, and my lovely stinky poo eating daughter.  And yes, she has new toys and still walks around with old dishtowels and dog bones.

But here’s to first birthdays! Or, first birthday PARTIES..her real birthday isn’t until next week and we are having a bbq for my husbands dads-side, and the weeknd after that Grandma is having a little shindig for her friends in honor of my bean, LUCKY duck she is.

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