“Daddy!”

“Claire!”

“It’s my birthday!”

“Yes it is!”

“We can do whatever I want?”

“Sure.”

“And I won’t get in trouble?”

“…Why?” Jim narrows his eyes, wanders into the bathroom, finds Crayola markers strewn on the ground, paperless and uncapped.

A whine, “Daaaaddddyyyy” from behind; Jim’s jaw drops.

“Why is Noah pink?!”

“It’s my birthday!”