Ariel named it. We'd been living in my brother's bedroom for three weeks, and when we finally got a place of our own, Ariel refused to leave without a fight for three days.
"I want to stay in my happy place!" she would scream, flailing as I dragged her out the door for some necessary appointment. It was an offer of Taco Bell on the third day that was finally met without protest, but rather a suspicious glance and cautious, "Okay..."
The name was convenient, because when I said "home," Ariel always had to ask which home. To her, we had four homes: our old house, Grandma's house, the beach house (where we had gone that first weekend), and now our new place. Making the "Happy Place" title official made it a lot easier to tell her where we were going next, a question that she has asked pretty much constantly since learning to speak.
Of course, an official name deserves a place of honor, like the dining room wall:
Felicity's birthday came quickly, and while I had little time or energy, I wasn't going to let it slip by uncelebrated. Mom hosted, and I baked a cake. M&M decorations disguised my inability to do anything tedious (well, that is, anything in addition to the mounds of paperwork I was dealing with).
While everyone was arriving, Felicity amused herself by doing gymnastics on the couch and playing peek-a-boo with anyone who dared look at her.
Ariel was eager for the cake!
Felicity put forth a valiant effort blowing out the candles, though in the end it was a cooperative achievement.
Anyone who knows Felicity well will not be surprised that she cared much more about picking off and eating individual M&Ms than about the cake itself.
What comes after cake? Presents, naturally! Preferably while snuggling up in Mommy's lap.
She even tried on a shirt from Daddy - that is, tried it on her legs...
Few things are as exhausting as a party. Can you blame her? I was jealous, personally.
Thanks to everyone who helped make this day special!
