Now that I am two years old, Mom and Dad suddenly have some ridiculously high expectations of me. First of all, they expected me to bake my own birthday cake. Luckily, Thatcher was there to help. He just turned 3 so he was in charge of the oven.
We created a serious mess, mostly in order to teach the parental units a lesson about making me bake my own birthday treat. I must really pat myself on the back; we did very well for a 2 and 3 year old. I must let you in on a little secret -- mom helped Thatcher with the oven.
After a weeks worth of sugar at a single seating we played like wild animals in the attic. For those who don't know, the attic at the beach house is by far my favorite place in the world. We played a version of running bases where uncle Chris threw stuffed animals at us while we tried to get from one side of the room to the other. Since we are boys, the more dangerous, the more fun is my motto.
The next day we hit that petting zoo I was telling everyone about a few posts ago. The animals are very secondary to the farm equipment to yours truly. The tractors don't like carrots though.
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