A toy in the closet, cracker in the couch, a flip flop in the bottom of the stroller, and recently we've added actual Easter eggs to the list making it a bit more excusable, but still... We've officially decided that our life is one all-encompassing Easter egg hunt. Things are hiding everywhere. In one way it's an adventure a because life is full of little discoveries, on the other hand, half the time you can't find anything because Little has taken it to one of his hiding places and you end up tearing apart the house in an effort to find it again. The latter view tends to take over my mentality. Good thing he is so cute. 

 So Little has a fisher price pirate ship set that has pretty much been his sole entertainment since my sister gave it to him a month or so ago. He particularly dotes on the cannonball. He carries it around everywhere he goes which means that at any given moment you could find yourself sitting on, kicking, dislodging, or being otherwise accosted by a cannonball in our house.This morning it was on the kitchen table for some reason and as Bryce moved to do something it somehow flew off and hit him in the gut. He caught it and immediately yelled out, "We're under SIEGE!!!" looking around frantically. Few times in my life have I laughed that hard. 
 Also... I was remiss in blogging his actual birthday so I thought I'd add some more piracy to this post. Of course it was a pirate birthday. I'm not sure that you can read it in the picture, but we made him a shirt that says, "Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of milk" and my sister's kids outfitted him with a pirate hat so that he could be truly piratical for the day. I made a treasure island cake and we played find the treasure on the map and tattooed ourselves silly. Much to our surprise, Little ate the cake pretty daintily and barely got a touch on himself, which was terribly unpiratical, but we'll work on that later.

Not that I ever had any grand illusions about this, but I can't spell. This is a recent rather disheartening discovery. If we're being honest, I can't say it's entirely recent as I've been attempting to find comfort in blaming my deteriorating mental state on motherhood for quite some time now--and yes, there has been a serious decline in brain functionality since Little's been around; however, apparently my problems are much deeper. I hit a new low when, while walking in the baby clothing section, I had an epiphany (as much as I wish it weren't the case, the amount of awe and shock I felt can only be classified that way). There is a word, not a very common word, but one everyone knows (read: should have known how to spell from the third grade). A word seldom seen in print, but simple enough to be placed on a baby's t-shirt. A word that has caused me to question my existence as a college graduate. A word that I am way too embarrassed to actually mention. I took one look at that little baby shirt with aforementioned word printed on it and realized that my entire life I've been spelling it wrong, and not just wrong, egregiously so. It starts with a completely different letter for heavens sake! Now, I recognize that this post is ridiculously over-dramatic, but there really is no doing justice to the trauma I felt when faced with the staggering reality of my mental state. Ok. Dramatics done. Simply put: I would lose horribly if I ever played "Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader?" and I find myself wondering how on earth I expect to write a book (or even a coherent sentence) in my current state.