Dear Hagen,
You turned two a few days ago.
We didn't have a party per se, because we were still reeling from Christmas. We know this isn't very fair to you, but rest assured we also know this is probably the last year we can get away with it.
We took you to the Children's Museum to play, which you thought was cool until you started to get sleepy, which is when it became suddenly NOT cool. Not cool at all.
In fact, your crying and wailing and thrashing around as your dad removed you from the premises disturbed Laney, who was otherwise painting a portrait of - she says - Grandma Sue. (Sorry, Sue).
While you slept off your rage fit, Laney got to work making your birthday cake.
She actually added all the ingredients herself and mixed it up, then when her friend Max came over to play, she let him join the decorating committee:
When they were done, it was truly something to behold:
...but since it was mostly sugar, frosted with sugar and decorated with colored sugar, you loved it.
In sum: your parents picked a lame birthday outing, and your sister made you a crazy-looking cake, and Max blew out your birthday candle. You were totally robbed, but I'm assuming by the time you're old enough to locate and read this blog, you'll have forgiven us. By then, we will probably be in the habit of throwing "Hagen's Half-Birthday" parties at the end of June.
These past two years have been such a blur. You've grown so fast into a running, squealing little boy who loves trucks and trains and reading books and playing games on the iPad that even your dad can't figure out. You love throwing your arms in the air and yelling "BLAST OFF!!" You adore our dog Ella, and sometimes when you wake up from your nap, you yell from your bed, "I COMING, ELLA!" You love fruit rope so much, Santa brought you a box of it from Costco. You like stacking blocks and Legos and hitting things with a toy hammer. You're the sweetest, snuggliest, greatest thing that could have happened to our family.
Happy birthday, little man.
Love,
Mom
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