I am the lamest mom ever.
Fortunately, my kids don't care. They know I love them anyway. Or so I hope.
Kip's birthday was about as uneventful as could be. I took the dog for a long walk in the morning, then spent the rest of my time before church frantically preparing for a lesson I was teaching in Relief Society (Families as the basis for a righteous life or something like that; terrible lesson, but that's a different story).
All three kids were reasonably behaved in church--I only had to get up three times to take care of issues (toilet, argument, toilet) and everyone went reasonably happily to class and stayed there. In nursery they sang to him and drew him a card, which I would like to point out is way, way cuter than any other store-bought card my kids have ever gotten, and because nobody knew it was his birthday that was it. Half an hour after church I managed to get everyone into the car and we drove home. I made pizza for dinner while the kids played minecraft (Paul and Sylvia on the new Xbox and Kip on my laptop) and we had banana splits for dessert because that was as close as I felt I could get to the banana cake Kip kept requesting (I only had green-yellow bananas. Can't make cake with those!).
Then everyone went to bed. Kip didn't get any presents, I didn't make him a cake or do anything really out of the ordinary for the day. I don't think he cared. Next year he might, the year after he probably will, and the next year he'll certainly expect more. So, I suppose it's good I've taken advantage of the ease of this year's birthday. Regardless, happy birthday my littlest one.