Eleven

My middle child turned eleven last week. We went to a churrascaria called 'Porcão', but we call it "Poor Cow" for obvious reasons.  They bring swords of sizzling meat to your table as often as you can take it. One of my daughters (let's call her Caligula) thought this was the greatest restaurant she had ever been, or would ever go to. The meal ended as many of our meals end, with her hunched over the toilet in the restroom. But was she done? Apparently not, as her words on the way back to the table were, "I think I'd like to try those chicken thingies they're bringing around right now."

I'll have some of that!  Um, I mean the meat, you guys. I'm talking about the meat on the sword. Sheesh.

Look at that face. And this is only round two of the meat delivery.

Just lettuce and tomatoes for Caligula's twin. And one piece of sushi.

On Saturday, Henry had about six of his closest buddies over for a party. I used to plan all kinds of theme activities for their parties when the kids were younger, but Henry just wanted to have a water fight now that he's too cool for themed games. I ordered a bunch of Super Soakers, and they spent four hours soaking each other, breaking a few times for pizza, cake, and beating each other with pool noodles on the trampoline. It was the first time my November boy was able to have an outside birthday party, and I think everyone had a pretty good time, plus there was the added bonus of being able to spray the table and patio down with a hose. Clean up, done.

*faces blurred on purpose, although I AM a crappy photographer.

Zombie cake