Also known as Fletcher's seventh birthday.
On his birthday I took the day off and we went to the animal shelter where Fletch promptly fell in love with the one cat Jim and I did not want to take home. His name is Buster, and there was no doubt the love was mutual. We dragged him through three rooms, pointing out all the other cats, lovely cats, cats without dandruff.
Buster has been with us almost a week and we all love him, but still, Fletch is his favorite:
On Saturday we had a small party with a few of Fletcher's friends and cousins. They decorated ninja headbands and played a game of pin the throwing star on the ninja. Chocolate cake and lots of running around outside shooting eachother with nerf guns, what more could a seven year old want?
Jim and I struggled to remain good parents in the face of a friend going home in the middle of the party crying and broken hearted, and Fletcher being less than gracious while opening his gifts:
"I'm not really a necklace person." after opening the necklace a cousin made
"I got lots of money for my birthday already." after opening a card with $5 in it
We're still reeling a bit from the day.