I wish I had more time to celebrate my middle child's eighth birthday but I made sure I had a homemade cake waiting for her when all three children returned home from school this afternoon. A tall 5-inch vanilla poppy seed cake with vanilla bean cream cheese icing and berries on top.
Her presents were under the Christmas tree. A journal, a book, a Lego set. Nothing fancy like the presents she would get at her father's house nor a party with her friends but at least we were together for a few hours before I had to drive them to the other house. They wanted to leave early as they wished to play with friends.
'It's not because I don't love you' explained my oldest. I know they are not happy with the house. I know because I feel the same. But soon we are leaving this depressing cave to a place where we can start living and not merely existing.
We did the best we could today with the short time we had. Next year will be better. But at least we were together for a short while. We sang 'happy birthday', she opened her presents, we ate cake.
Happy birthday my Cinnamon.