Pizza Fireworks

Nothing says "Happy Birthday, America" like a 30-star flag cake, burritos and a little Neil serenading dinner with his iconic "America".

I can't get the photo to flip ... I'm not trying to disrespect the proper vertical flag display.

I had told Jane some time ago that "America" was the birthday song for our country and that little girl remembers EVERYthing.

Not only does she have a memory like an elephant, this little girl is the world's MOST attentive big sister.

I was a little distraught that I had only managed to pipe on 30 stars, but Lane said it would be fine as long as Texas was in the Union by then.

I looked it up, but then delivered distressing news: California was state #31.

Lane would not stand for that.

He wouldn't allow me to fix the cake by adding a whole new row of stars. Apparently, for this California boy, symmetry is optional.

And, being who I am on holidays, I insisted on a photo of all the children together.
Tragically, I could not manage to get a photo with all three smiling.

Closest I came to getting all three happy.

I may not be able to get all three smiling, but I have mad skillz when it comes to getting a picture with all three upset.

I didn't even have to threaten them -- they did this all on their own. I'm crazy talented that way.

And, while Daddy took these two to see their first firework show:

Jane declared the "pizza fireworks" (you know, the ones that shoot out horizontally in a circle?) the best of the night.

Mommy stayed home to put this sweetness to bed.

I subsequently spent much longer than usual kissing on these sweet cheeks.

We could have taken all three. But I've never sleep-trained a baby and I'm not one to mess with babies who sleep 12+ hours at night. As a result, I am a little more than sad that I missed my babies' first firework show. Boo.