Happy Monday Friends!
I’m still recovering from a Birthday Party Hangover. Seriously, I don’t know how barbequing some chicken, stuffing some goody bags and setting up a bounce house can make one feel like they’ve been hit by a Mac truck, but it can. It does. It did. The house was full of the usual suspects on Saturday. Friends and family and kiddos all showed up to help us celebrate. As with everything else in this business, it took a village. Roxy frosted, scooped and wrangled. Jeremy’s mom, Debbie, chopped, straightened and wrangled. Jeremy swept, barbequed and wrangled. Adrianne made the cake pops. Austin brought the bounce house. I’m under no disillusions that I managed any of it alone. The village is good that way. Lots of hands. Lots of hearts. Lots of people who love Brodie and wanted to make sure his day went off without a hitch.
Adrianne made him his own "Monster" cake pop. Fitting, huh?
He’s pretty lucky, that kid. LOTS of people sure do love him.
The party started at 2:00 and the rain started at 2:15. After the initial meltdown that followed having to get off the swing set and out of the fort, we moved the bounce house to the patio. A toddler mattress was placed at the bottom to prevent any major injury, and the party lived on. No one seemed to mind the rain. No one seemed to mind being stuffed like sardines into my house. Kids running crazy, cake on everyone’s face, full bellies and dirty feet and happy laughter.
I love that I get to celebrate birthdays with my boys. Birthdays are a big deal. It is fun to celebrate the day one was brought into the world. After all, it’s a celebration for me too. I’m the one who did the ‘bringing’ and each candle we add to the cake means another year of being a mom. It’s fun to eat cake. It’s fun to open presents. It’s also exhausting. And not only for me. Brodie was walking around like a zombie at about 8 o’clock, roaming around the living room, eyes half shut, wanting desperately to go to sleep but not wanting to let go of the excitement of the day, or let go of his toys for fear someone else would take them. I have to admit, though, it was also quite satisfying to see him so exhausted. It’s a good sign. A good sign that I did my job right. A good sign that he partied like a two- year -old rock star.
Mom Success.
I was a little anxious. I often am when it comes to stuff like that. I want everyone to enjoy themselves. I want my kids to behave. I want everyone else’s kids to behave. I want the food to taste good and my septic system not to back up and my carpet not to suffer any major damage.
They did. It did. Nothing got broken. Everything turned out fine.
I kept asking my Uncle Ronnie, “We doing alright?”
I knew he would ease my mind. He has a way about him. A way of reassuring me, without saying too much, that I’m doing better than fine. I’m sure glad he was here. Sure glad he’s part of the village. He did, indeed, ease my mind, warm my heart and make me laugh. When he was walking out the door, he hugged my shoulders and gave me the best present of the day with these words,
“You’re doing a hellava job with those boys.”
Thanks, Uncle Ronnie. I think we do alright, but it sounds better coming from you!
