Another Birthday

My son turned thirteen on Summer Solstice. Thirteen. The concept boggles my mind. He's nearly as tall as I am. Two more years until he is old enough for a driving permit. He wants an overnight roadtrip with friends as his birthday party, like his sister had, though instead of the train ride he wants to go to the Woodland Park Zoo to see the armadillos. Yes, armadillos. My son has an armadillo obsession. This trip will have to wait though, until one of his friends gets back from a family trip to Europe, so we had a family birthday with just the four of us. His dad had a rare "non-clinic day" in which he didn't have patients in the hospital or mounds of delinquent paperwork, and we took a trip into Portland for the day. We bought a mound of computer games, had Mongolian BBQ for lunch, spent a great couple of hours in Powell's City of Books, walked around the Pearl District and found Finnegan's Toy Store. It was a good day. I came home and baked cake. It was done rather late. Being done rather late, as in a quarter til eleven, it was not fussed over. More of a "git 'er done" approach to cake making. Armadillo cake, of course.