Word of the Day: contumely Patrick is three. A while ago, I asked Patrick what he wanted for his birthday. A cake, he says. Okay, I say, what kind of cake? A white cake, and purple, too, he says. A white cake with purple icing, I ask. Yeah, he says. So we were at the store last week, and he said he wanted a chocolate cake. I explained that chocolate is brown, so the icing will be white, and he said he was fine with that. The above is the horrible, horrible product. I always knew that there was a reason I avoided baking, and it's because I'm bad at it. I mean, look at that sad, sad cake. It tastes really good because it's from a box, but I told JD that I'm ripping up my application to Ace of Cakes. Patrick said it was beautiful. We ate breakfast on Saturday and I made the cake, then we went to the zoo. Patrick said he wanted to see the tigers and the monkeys, and, after the reptile house, the tigers was the first things we saw. We went pretty early so they might have been cranky, but one of them growled at me. After that, Patrick was done with them. We walked around and he was flipping out at the otter and the black Japanese silkie chickens [I was flipping out about those, too, they're so so cute], the geese that were honking at him, the spidermonkies playing. It was fun. After the zoo, we went to Academy to get him... ...a bike. He played with it outside for a bit, but then it started to rain, so we let him, for one day only, to ride around in the house. The above picture is from yesterday, when he was showing off his skillz to my mother. Pretty much, we have low-key birthdays in this family. I myself place much more importance on Christmas as far as gift-giving goes, so birthdays just kind of fall to the wayside in that respect. Patrick seemed to enjoy himself on his third birthday. We went to the doctor yesterday. He's 36 inches tall and weighs 33 pounds. Kelly, the assistant or whatever, said that he's a little short for his age and a little heavy for his height, which I'm completely unconcerned about. No matter what health professionals say, my son grows how he grows and that's that. I don't have a problem just so long as he keeps eating and getting taller. He got poked in the belly and his ears, nose, eyes, and mouth checked, and he held up his own end of a conversation with her. He got a shot in his leg and didn't cry [he just whined a bit]. So so good. My dear babeh isn't so much of a babeh anymore. He's growing up into a little boy, and I can't believe it. I mean, look at him--