May 7th marked the one year anniversary that the precious and exhaulted, creamy and squishy baby boy named Nolan was exfiltrated from his mother's 'down there'.
In Japan, at least in my in-law's area, the occasion is traditionally marked by strapping a tupperware container filled with grandma's non-rice-based daifuku onto the tike's back, handing him a large walking stick-type thing with a sharp and rusty metal hook hanging off a chain from it's peak and standing him proudly in front of the thirty year-old samurai doll.
If only it went so smoothly. Let's just say the only thing that went well was that didn't gouge his eye out.
He's ONE! WOO!
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