Lucky Number Seven.

Marley is now seven years old. 

On Saturday, she chose all of her favorite foods to help her celebrate the big day.  Pancakes for breakfast, fish sticks and broccoli for lunch, and a fancy mac and cheese out at Bertucci's for dinner.  And then there were the chocolate and peanut M&Ms she shared at the Hotel Transylvania matinee, along with an ice cream cake just before bed.  These are, obviously, different from the deluxe treats I would choose to indulge in on my special day, but I think Marley's choices demonstrate what it means to be seven pretty spectacularly.

Also, Bean's favorite presents were a stuffed panda, who replaces the Pandie she lost when we went to the Katy Perry movie this summer, and a diary that opens only when she says the secret password.  The password is "kittens."  I can tell you without worrying about a security breach because even I can't get in there when I say it.  Todd broke in after a very high-pitched imitation of the girl I've taken to calling Seven, but otherwise, it's Marley's special diary, and I've only been allowed to peek at the first few pages, filled with invisible ink pictures of hearts and peace signs.  

Remember when Marley turned four and we threw a party at an inflatable emporium? Or when she turned five and we hosted the fanciest party I've ever attempted?  And then birthday number six, when we were clearly so exhausted by previous parties that we just met everyone at the park and called it a day?  This year, we're continuing to take it down another notch.  My girls will have celebrate with family together in late October, and Marley's so-called party will be a small get-together with a handful of school friends that I still haven't planned.  I will, though. And there will be manicures and ice cream, and probably some glitter in there as well.  Happy Birthday, Marley Bean.  You are so smart and stubborn and clingy and funny and awesome, and you are my favorite seven-year-old.