Soup Slurpin’ and Birthday Boys

First thing’s first….TGIF, folks!! It’s another beautiful Friday and we have the whole weekend ahead of us!

Tomorrow is my brother’s birthday and he’s turning the ripe old age of 26.  Oh to be young again! I’m actually totally fine with being 33, except for when you have too much wine and it hits you mid-day when you’ve just started being productive, and the fact that everyone expects you to be a full-grown “adult” and be “very responsible.” Aside from that, I have no complaints.

Anyway, we had a little birthday lunch celebration with him today since he’s doing what any 26 year old with their own money and zero responsibilities does and he’s going on an overnight to Vegas with his best friends. (Cue the opening credits for “The Hangover.”) So if we wanted to celebrate, today was the day.

For years, affectionately and jokingly he and his friends have called each other “Little Boy.” We aren’t sure why they do or say a lot of the things they do and more than 30% of the time we don’t understand them at all.  But they “Little Boy” in a crazy-ish voice and it’s hilarious and English so we’re mostly all on the same page.

Since children are sponges, our oldest nephew has started picking up on that and instead of calling him Uncle Bobby, he now stops himself mid-sentance and calls him “Little Boy.”  It’s one of the most hysterical things to hear, especially when he says it in front of Bobby’s friends who then double over in hyperventilating laughter. Because, fact: there’s nothing funnier than kids saying things that adults say. (Even when it’s not appropriate and you’re not supposed to laugh.)

So at the birthday lunch, my sister shows up with the boys, balloons tied to each one of their hands, and a cake for the birthday boy.  And this is what it says:

littleboyMeagan for the win. Epic cake dedication, and you’re absolutely correct if you thought that we sang “Happy birthday, dear Little Boy!” as loud as we could at the restaurant.

Before this happened though, we had some lunch. Which, when the nephews are around at a Mexican food restaurant means that we have several plates of rice and beans on the table. Don’t get me wrong, refried beans and rice are delicious and the foundation that Tex Mex is built on, but they’re not usually the whole meal. Or anything exciting.  I mean, they’re not handing out The James Beard Award for rice and beans, but whatever.  My favorite thing is that my oldest nephew will now ask for tortillas and make his own “tacos” when his plate arrives.  It’s a total mess, but he loves it and from what I’ve observed of parenting if your child is eating something at all, much less semi-nutritious, you should let sleeping dogs lie.  (Full heart + full belly = full night sleep for all.)

So to my surprise and mid-taco bite, he took an immediate interest in my tortilla soup. So I gave him a taste and here’s what he said. “Ohhh, I LOVE soup, Aunt Bibby!! Can I share with you?”  (Try to hear it in a 3, almost 4 years old’s precious raspy voice. It’ll kill you.)

So of course I want to share my soup (there was A LOT anyway) and as any aunt obsessed with their niece or nephew you basically are just delighted when they pay you any attention above their parents.  So duh, I shared my soup (and I’m sure a few germs) with my lil punk and made little people conversation at Little Boy’s birthday.  File that under #bestlunchever

Advertisements