A lot has changed since I last wrote on this thing, and I don't feel like writing about all those things right now, because. Yeah.
But this is what I've been thinking about today.
Birthday parties. Kid's birthday parties. Like the one the elder had for his seventh, on a warm July day. (*sigh* sunshine..) Since it was to be his last as an 'only', I gave into going all out ridiculousness because I'm such a sucker.
We rented a bounce house, ladies and gentlemen. A bounce house. Who does that? I mean, really outside of movies with WASPy families and perfectly manicured lawns. Certainly not us.
Luckily, the in-laws have a big ass backyard and a pickup. And are also incredibly tolerant of little monsters running all over the place. And spoil the crap outta their grand kids. So we spend a day setting up a pinata full of toys and sugary substances, pick up, drag and inflate the bounce house in the back of the yard, fill up the goodie bags and make waaaay too many water balloons (fuck filling water balloons). Food and snacks were ready. We stocked up on a FUCKTON of beer for the adults, because we're good hosts like that. The cake was purchased (because I don't bake and stuff). 20 or so kiddos invited.
Ready for the madness.
In actuality, it was sweetly beautiful, the perfect combination of Mischief's friends, varied ages, all cooperating and loving and sharing and playing and bringing only homemade gifts or something up-cycled, as asked. Beautiful things made lovingly- stories written and illustrated with the birthday boy as the star, hand made paper and aluminum foil swords, shields, a Mexican wrestler mask purchased at a yard sale. The kid was so excited, it apparently gave him a bloody nose.
Oh yeah.
I hope he remembers it forever. I hope he loves the memories of his youth into adulthood and recounts them fondly, sharing silliness and smiles like his father does. I know I am doing the best I can for him, and I know I couldn't do it alone.
My childhood was not ideal, to say the least-but so often, it was my mother-alone.My big beautiful support system of extended family and friends keeps me sane. Grandparents are the shit. These awesome dads are the shit. Despite all the crazy that happened between my last post and this party- (which will be shared soon), we're still standing. Or throwing our kids around in an inflatable plastic thing. Or something.
