birthday night.

Hads wanted to have a slumber party…with her friends from school.

I said 'No way, Jose.  There is not a chance I am having stranger kids here with their stranger parents dropping them off, for the night.  You're too little to have strangers spend the night.'

To which she replied, 'Well they aren't stranger to me, Mom.  And maybe you should go to coffee with their parents.  So they aren't strangers.'

Good point. 

But fat chance.

Because I don't like coffee with strangers.

And I don't like stranger kids that come with all sorts of strange rules, and the stranger parents that expect you to follow those strange rules.

Then she told me I was the strange one.

Fair enough.

My house.  My rules.

So she came up with plan B.

(because this kid is a problem solver).

She wanted all of her cousins to spend the night.

Done and done!

These are kids I can be on my worst behavior with and they still love me.

I can yell at them, I can bribe them, I can lie to them.

I can be myself.

And they come with parents that are most likely related to me and love me because of it, or love me in spite of it.

Either way, they trust me with their kiddos, and that's good enough for me.

And these kids. 

I love them like my own.

I mean I seriously adore them.

They are everything good, and everything bad.

They are pure awesome.

And they are all I have ever wanted as cousins for my babes.

Except at 11pm, when they finally went to bed.

And 4am when two of them thought it was okay to wake up.

(my daughter being one of them).

And 6:30am when they ALL decided to wake up.

Nobody was awesome then.

But I will say, Hadley never stopped smiling.

(except one time when she lost her mind).

And that made it all worth it.

(kind of).

(there's only one way to survive eight kids).

The telephone game.

Huge hit.

The dice game.

Not as huge of a hit.

(okay, maybe there are two ways to survive eight kids).

GO TO BED!

birthday morning.

She woke up to balloons.

Ding-Dongs.

 A table of wrapped gifts.

A bike.

And an electric pencil sharpener.

Her day was officially 'the best day ever'.

His day was officially 'the worst day ever'.

seven.

Hadley Jane,

You are seven.  

7.  

SEVEN!!!

That's legit kid status right there.

And it blows my mind to think that I have known you for seven years.

Seven years ago, I didn't even know if you were a boy or a girl.

Until 3:39pm.

And then, there you were (8 days late you brat), to my total and utter surprise, a healthy, beautiful baby girl.

My Hadley Jane (Drew Ryan if you were a boy).

Seven years ago, you completely changed my life.

You threw me into a world I didn't have a clue about.

You made me solely responsible for the one thing I loved more than any other thing in the world.

You introduced me to a love that I didn't know existed.

A love that scared the hell out of me.

You made me more nervous, more unsettled, more tired, more unsure, more crazy, more unprepared, more out of control, more happy, more smitten, more content, more infatuated…than I have ever been before.

And now, here we are, seven years later.

And I actually love you more now than I did then.

And while it may seem trite, it really is true.

I am crazy, madly, insanely, whole heartedly, deeply in love with you. 

I love that you're an early-bird (although 5:30am is just dumb).  I love that you would still nap everyday if you weren't in school (and still do nap on the weekends).  I love that you are turning into a tom-boy (although sometimes you look a little 'butch').  I love that you are starting to have opinions about things (but I don't always appreciate these opinions).  I love that you are starting to have solutions for things.  I love your giggle (it is the single greatest sound on earth).  I love that you have a wit and wisdom sometimes far beyond your seven years.  I love that you teach me things (more than you will ever know).  I love that you are inquisitive (simple answers don't work for you anymore.  Thank God for Google).  I love that you are constantly on a quest for knowledge (even when I want you to please just be quiet for five minutes…please).  I love that you love to give hugs, and do so freely (sometimes you're forced, but you always comply).  I love that you make friends wherever you go.  I love your compassion and empathy (especially for that pesky brother of yours).  I love that you love to tell jokes (and that they aren't even funny, but send you into fits of laughter).  I love that we gang up on Dad and Carsie (boys are gross).  I love how forgiving you are.  I love that you love magic tricks (and think you are so good at them…you're not).  I love how silly you are (even when it's slightly annoying…and very loud).  I love that you will do anything…if I 'time' you.  I love how wonderful you are with your brother (you guys are my favorites).  I love how excited you are to see your cousins (they are your best buds…hands down).  I love your relationship with your grandparents (you are the luckiest gal alive).  I love that you hate being in trouble (the look of fear on your face actually makes me laugh).  I love that you love reading, and writing, and working in work books.  I love that you think your first grade teacher is the bees knees.  I love how much you love holidays (and a treasure hunt).  I love that you aren't really into what's 'cool' yet.  I love that you still love playing with dolls (sometimes I think you forget that they aren't real).  I love your sense of humor.  I love that you are starting to realize some things are just 'unfair'.  And I love even more that you are learning to deal with it.  I love that you do your chores (with minimal complaints).  I love that all of your classmates at school said you are 'always nice and play with everyone at recess', during the birthday circle.  I love that you are, indeed, nice.  I love your confidence.  I love that you get nervous sometimes.  I love that you wear glasses.  I love your crooked teeth (would you let me pull that stupid tooth already).  I love your string bean body (you are so freaking tall!).  

I love your spunkiness, your feistiness, your tenderheartedness.

I love that you are beautiful where it counts the most.

Happy Birthday girlfriend.

xoxo

Your, seven year old having, Mama.

the boys.

I must hear 90 times a day, once Ry gets home…

"Daddy will you please play with me?  Will you Daddy?  Please?  Please play with me Daddy."

And when Ry is not at home I hear…

"When is my daddy coming home from work?  We are boys.  We are best friends.  Boys are best friends with boys.  Mama, you are sissy's best friend because you are 'grils'.  'Grils' are not boys.  I really, really, really miss my best Daddy boyfriend."

And he's right, they really, really are best Daddy boyfriends.

35.

I turned 35.

THIRTY FREAKING FIVE.

Which is half-way to 70.

And everyone dies at 70, because I read the obits, and that seems to be the median age.

So in my head, half my life is over.

But really, it's just getting started.

(Depends on how full we want to fill that glass up…and my glass is always full.  Literally).

 I have always been someone who looks forward to birthdays.

I like getting older.

I really do.

I feel like the worse I look (gravity is a real pain in the ass…on my ass), the better I feel about myself.

I like the confidence, the wiseness, the friendships (old and new), the appreciation, and the contentment that comes with getting older.

I like my kids getting older.

(NO DIAPERS).

I like Ry older. 

(I am a sucker for gray in a beard).

I like it all.

And I especially like an excuse to celebrate with some of my favorite people that I have known forever…for an entire weekend.

These peeps.

They are the real deal.

We have been smitten with each other for an eternity.

We have seen the best and the worst of each other.

We have laughed and cried.

We have witnessed every milestone, good and bad.

(Some of these poor people have endured me for 28 years!).

And we still love nothing more than to just be together.

Reminiscing about it all.

And although, at 35, I may still yearn for white baseboards and crown moulding, I will never need to yearn for best friends.

And that makes me think maybe I'm doing something right.

35.

Halfway to 70.

Someone better start writing the rough draft of my obituary.

And please stick a picture of me in a bikini next to it.

In my twenties.

Not a picture of me after this weekend.

In fulminant liver failure.

(The ascites and jaundice are quite unbecoming, and the encephalopathy is permanent…but well earned).

DISCLAIMER:

"R" rated Lyrics in this song.