"Couldn't get ahold of no flour, so it's mostly protein. In fact, the cake is pretty much what we just had for dinner." - Kaylee, Firefly

Pugsley, riding the Winnie the Pooh Wheeled Toy Ride Upon Thingy That Looks Sort Of Like An Airplane®. Party on, little dude.

Well, The Boy made it to six, and Pugsley made it to two, too. His birthday party was a lot of fun for the family. The Boy was panting with anticipation, and it's not his birthday, and he's not a dog. The nice thing about throwing a birthday for a two year old is that they never see it coming. Pugsley’s last birthday party was half his life ago: he remembers his first birthday like I remember which pair of pants have a hole in the seat before I wear them to work (the gray ones, but I never remember until I get the first gallon of coffee into me, then I sit with my legs crossed all day).

We started the party with the cake. It was a Cars™ cake, complete with a little Lightning McQueen© on it. Usually, the most dangerous place in the world is between Donald Trump and a camera – he will smash his way through bone and flesh to get in frame. The second most dangerous place in the world is between Pugsley and food.

We put a Texas-sized piece of Cars™ cake in front of him, careful to quickly draw back our fingers lest they get caught up in the frenzy and get shoved into his voracious maw. Despite his usually ferocious appetite, Pugsley was done with his cake after three or four bites. I took one for the team and finished the cake for him. I’m generous that way. I’m a giver.

Then, time for the presents.

Pugsley likes the Winnie the Pooh Wheeled Toy Ride Upon Thingy That Looks Sort Of Like An Airplane® the best – it was also the last toy we gave him. When he saw it coming down the hall, he threw his other toys away, literally flinging them blindly over his shoulder, and fixated upon the Winnie the Pooh Wheeled Toy Ride Upon Thingy That Looks Sort Of Like An Airplane®. I’m sure it was just like when Brad met Angelina, after conveniently flinging the whole “married to Jennifer” thing over his metaphorical shoulder. Ohhhh, look. Pretty new toy.

The best part, however, is that to Pugsley, the whole getting cake and cool presents thing was an utterly random and unpredictable event. It’s the way parents have messed with kids’ minds since we stopped tossing them in coal mines at age four to sniff the mine to make sure it was okay for the miners to enter when the manager wanted to save costs on canaries. Somewhere kids went from easily replaceable cheap labor to treasured little gems. Personally, I blame Garfield (the president, not the cartoon cat) for this. I won’t explain. Garfield knows what he did.

I’m pretty sure Pugsley remembers the birthday party now – every morning the first thing he does is tromp his sturdy little legs on the floor and immediately amble in his huffing-little-runny-nosed-boy-foot-slapping-way to the Winnie the Pooh Wheeled Toy Ride Upon Thingy That Looks Sort Of Like An Airplane® which he loves almost as much as famous celebrities love riding around in private jets to tell a crowd of people to change their behavior because they’re causing global warming. Almost that much.

Maybe these early birthday parties are why people have a hard time coming to grips with the bitter reality that they aren’t ever ever ever ever going to win the lottery. It’s not that the lottery is a only a tax on the mathematically impaired, it’s also that everybody remembers their second birthday party and are pretty much expecting that they’ll get the same thing to ease them off into retirement. Deep in the dark recesses of their minds, where the old episodes of “Green Acres” fight for space with the lyrics to “Yellow Submarine,” people remember that birthday when they were a snotty mouth breather and got the Winnie the Pooh Wheeled Toy Ride Upon Thingy That Looks Sort Of Like An Airplane®, and the mind says, hey, tomorrow you might wake up and find:

• your mortgage is paid off,
• your shins are shined to a silky sheen,
• your pantry is piled with Pez,
• your fridge is filled with frosty-cold beer,
• your hiney is tiny, and
• Adam Sandler has vowed to never make another movie.

It would be great, right? Just like your . . . second birthday party.

Maybe we need to revisit that whole coal mine thing . . . you know, just to lower everyone's expectations. Mmmm. Pez.