Wednesday marked a big milestone in the casa: the twins somehow navigated their way to age 1, with a little help from their parents along the way. Here are the Ladies waking up to a raucous rendition of “Happy Birthday” with their father (a.k.a. “the hubs”) lovingly shoving the Flip (or the Flippin’) recorder in their faces. That’s love. Please observe the love:

The Ro, primed and ready.

The O taking it all in.

While we did celebrate quietly as a family that day, we didn’t get to officially ring in the occasion until this weekend, when we celebrated the baby ladies outside and in 100-degree heat. Wait. Maybe that wasn’t such a great idea. The pics make it look that much more sweltering. Observe:

Here’s O melting.

And here’s Ro doing the same.

Yikes, yo! While the Ladies did eventually cool off in the pool, it’s safe to say the pomp and circumstance was lost on them. Pretty sure the heat index is to blame. Yes, I choose to blame the heat index. Ahhhhhh, feels good to point fingers and deflect the blame elsewhere, no?

So here they were, prepped and ready for that iconic photo; you know, the one where the one-year-old happily smashes cake into his or, in this case, her-squared’s collective face. Observe:

Note that O is looking up for mercy from her father to whisk her away inside or take a dip in the pool–something, anything to relieve her rising body temperature (don’t worry: all was well once they did hit the pool). But no dice. Please note that Ro has moved on and given up on the notion that the two crazy people called “parents” will rescue her from the third tier of proverbial hell that is August in Nashville.

What to do now? Why, let’s introduce the cake (gluten-free!–more on that later) because everyone feels like eating while they’re melting. At least that’s what O and Ro’s whackadoodle mother must have convinced herself of. Freak show.

Here are the babes with their now sugar-induced coma magnified by the burgeoning belly of the Sun. Observe:

The O.

The Ro.

While I must admit the Ladies are delightful and beautiful and delightfully beautiful, the humidity was not. Even as we sang “Happy Birthday” to each of them individually, a plan was shaping in my mind. The plan… for a do-over.

And so we happily got to mark the celebration again–the third time–on Sunday. The results were… better, though the response was one of hesitant revelry.

O: “Are you sure I’m allowed to have this all to myself, Mama? You’re not gonna ‘help’ me eat it again are you?”

Ro: “Man this junk is tasty! Why do I feel so …Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz?”

And off to bed they went shortly thereafter. A girl’s gotta sleep off the sugar buzz after all!

Dually celebrated. Third time’s a charm. A-men.