Back in early spring, we all attended a silent auction where the Zig bid on a model airplane, and won. I'm not sure why he chose that particular thing to bid on, but he's always looking for things to love. Pets, bugs, stuffed animals, telephone poles, small planes. Soon after that, he read everything he could get his hands on concerning the P-51 Mustang used in WWII and quickly decided he wanted his birthday cake with that theme.
We joked for a while about Pa making a big ol' airplane out of cake, but when it was all said and done, the cake was decorated with fondant and frosting in the theme of the P-51 Mustang. Sounds simpler, but Pa and I likely put hours into that cake. Heh heh, our poor aching backs.
Regardless. My boy is eight, which is good, because I've been saying he is eight for a few months now. It's just easier. I like it when my kids' ages are all two years apart because my memory, MY POOR AGING MEMORY cannot handle so many numbers at one time!
We had a small party at home with the five of us. Pa had taken the day off of work and Zig got to spend the bulk of the day playing with his presents, which is his idea of perfection. Low stress, low on the human interaction. We did make a little outing to Sweet Tomatoes for dinner, because no matter how introverted the majority of us might be, we still can't resist The Call Of The All-You-Can-Eat Buffet.
Ziggy's presents were Legos with a side of Legos, with some plane-themed gifts in there too. Each kid got a small non-tangling parachute man--great fun for all of us in the front yard. Took Pa about five minutes before he was rigging up a contraption to make the guys soar up even higher. And I'm not saying I nearly threw my arm out of joint trying to make mine fly highest--but I might have.
Happy eighth birthday, Zig!
