Saturday was The Wictor’s birthday. He turned three.

He was not having a party, so I took my current relaxed parenting strategy to extremes.

As in, we did not tell him it was his birthday until I had had time to go out to Wal-Mart (the only place open at 8am apart from Tarjay whose toy department is getting pretty dire) and grab a few toys and refreshments, come home, blow up some balloons, and throw some Spongebob decorations onto the cake.

I have no shame. But I was also counting on him possessing the esthetic appreciation of a just-turned-three year old:

He loved his cake just fine. And his birthday too. In the afternoon we went swimming, just like every other day, and then had M&M-shaped ice creams (did you know they make ice creams in the shape of M&Ms, The Wictor’s favorite candies?) and cupcakes.

He was the happiest boy in the world.

P.S. Oh, and here’s another thing: those hastily chosen Wal-Mart toys? Also a Big Hit. For the record, the hands-down favorite is Handy Manny’s Fix-It Phone. He spent every available moment in the afternoon “‘pairing the co-pooter” and screaming when his brother and sister got too close.

They were like lionesses circling for the kill, so badly did they want to get their hands on the toy. It made for a pretty noisy afternoon.

And then at some point he must have realized he was now three and so very gwown up and let them each have a turn.

And I swear I heard the three of them purring.