He wanted a Batman party. Easy enough. Utility belts? Well, I tried. But I bought horrible fabric that kept jamming my sewing machine and at 1:30 a.m. the night before the party I said, forget it, or something like that, and just stuck velcro on the strips of fabric I cut out and called it a night. We had a small party (something different for a change) and I figured the Batman stickers on folks' shirts would be enough to entertain the H bomb. (And they were). He got a box from his godparents that included SpongeBob bubble bath, yet to see if that makes bathtime more enjoyable for him, a Batman costume which is hilarious on him because his head is the size of your average 20 year old so the mask makes for good humor, and finally, as you can see below, whisks. Three whisks to be exact. Why whisks? Well, Thing Two loves, and I mean LOVES, to run around with our whisk as a Superhero type of weapon/magical object/who knows what... as seen earlier this summer.
But now the boy has his OWN whisks (very cool ones in fact that Maba may just have to borrow). And we have the assurance that at least ONE whisk should be available for use to mix up Saturday morning pancakes. So yes, observe the use of the whisk...
Gotta love those ears.
Anyway, it was good to see family. Feeling badly because I didn't invite any friends his age to come, but that's ok too because hopefully he won't remember and he didn't notice this time. He just wanted to see his older sibs because they are his friends. I got all of the kids into Batman costumes, though Thing One was not feeling camera friendly... (what? more hate!)
I have spent most of the past week negotiating between One and Two over the multitude of Batman toys Two received. It is amazing that he can carry all three Batmobile cars in his arms, along with the Batcopter and then he just leaves the Batship for One to diddle with... which KILLS Thing One. The constant phrase in our house currently is from Thing One, "I'm NOT sharing when it's MY birthday." Aarrrgggh.
And now I'm going to crawl into my Batcave and sleep. My beautiful three-year-old has a check-up on Monday with shots (Mark got out of that... again) and then pictures on Tuesday (Mark is NOT getting out of that). I am blessed, including all of the hate, because eventually he does turn it around and crawl into my arms for a snuggle with his blanket. Love that. Love him.
