My man, Martin. One year older on the thirtieth (I remember his birthday with this rhyme: Martin is sturdy! January thirty!) Truly, my brain for numbers is so awful that this is the only way I could remember his big day. My mother called late on the 28th (note: we have been married for 11 years now). I thought someone must have died and I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. But a very happy voice on the other end in Seattle said she had called to wish Martin a happy birthday and--that's right--it's later where we are, right? So I tell you: I come by my number befuddlement naturally.
But back to the main attraction.
Martin was celebrated all weekend long on four different occasions. He baked his own birthday brownies but he did not cook his own birthday meal (and neither did I, for that matter--I kept on wishing myself a happy birthday until I realized, that's right--it's Martin--you're just standing in the right place at the right time.) I even gave him a luxurious sleep in, though the two older girl's CLEAN UP! song and Beatrix climbing all over him made it a bit of an interrupted one.
But this, by far, is the gift every Daddy really wants, and the one Martin got Saturday morning after his birthday pancake:
A MAKEOVER! He looked so pretty for his big day.
I wish the colors of the eyeshadow would have come out a bit better in the picture, but you get the general idea. As we were driving out to lunch, I had to tell him he still had lipstick on. . .a lovely light pink. I think something darker would actually suit him better.
I told the girls--(helped by our dear friend Catherine)--that they were really very lucky to have such a nice Daddy.
