Penelope’s sixth birthday started with eating the breakfast of her choice and then opening presents sent all the way from Texas by grandparents.
She loved the art supplies and doll but all of that paled by comparison to the warm soft Bieber pajamas and the cold hard cash.
Then it was on to lunch of her choice – Chick-fil-A, of course, because she’s been raised well.
Penelope shares a birthday with her cousin Philip, who turned twelve this week. He’s always been gracious to split the day with her. So it was more presents at Philip’s house with Aunt Amy, Uncle Brian and the Tennessee cousins in the afternoon.
Her favorite? The (very short) life story of a certain sixteen year-old Canadian pop star. Large type. Lots of pictures.
Riveting. Shocking. Apparently.
And the famous birthday hat was there – foisted upon everyone in Philip’s family on their birthday regardless of age or fashion sense or allergies to polyester and shame.
Philip was “kind” enough to share the hat. Without even being asked. Such a selfless boy.
And his ice cream and cake. But not before Penelope was presented with a special birthday treat.
Oh, the things a dad’ll do for love. Or out of love. Or because he was told. Whatever.
Some evil party goer tossed Justin aside at some point. Landed him right in the ice cream. The horror.
So Bieber had to be cleaned off.
Which I accidentally caught on camera. Disturbing. Very very disturbing. I’ve made an appointment with a counselor. Mine.
Speaking of disturbing accidents. I snapped this one of Penelope showing that she got frosting on her finger.
Or she was saying “thank you” for the lame-o colored pencils, Dad.
Sorry. The stores ran out of age-appropriate Bieber stuff.
This is the birthday season around these parts. Half a dozen family birthdays every Spring.
Lots of cake and Blue Bell.
And candle blowing.
Cousins circled up.
Kids and barely-kids who won’t be for long.
Every one of them a gift.
And the occasional pop star.