Party On!

Finally. 
Almost a solid month after the fact, we will actually celebrate the twins' seventh birthday tomorrow.
How pathetic is that?

Well...see, with every passing weekend, the days get longer and there's less of a chill in the air. More chance to play outside. Less chance of too many little kids tearing through the house freaking the cat.  And if LRHF is going to be barefoot, as is his want, we should do what we can to make it seem less absurd.  No small task. 

What did I do today?  More importantly, why do I have so much freaking crap to do tomorrow, and why does so much of it involve puffy paint?

My babies are seven.  SEVEN. That's two syllables, which is twice as many as they had last year when they turned six.  Seven.  Good God. 

So much changes in that double-syllabled time frame.  I've lost all my grandparents, my mother drifts ever farther from, well, everything, then there's autism, autism, autism. Oh, and of course, there's the autism. And,now, my brother begins his journey Home, too soon, too quickly, and completely without my permission. 

And yet. 
We celebrate. We jump on the trampoline, we swing on the swingset, we play in the playhouse.  Good, basic stuff.  I hope they remember these low-rent so-not-at-Pump-It-Up parties as our gifts to them, our our sharing of them with our little low rent world.  We love the lives of our boys, LRHF's coy and stubborn smile, Fuzzy's e.e. cummings observations...they are so very different, so very lovely, and so very mystifying, even after seven years. 
I wish...I wish my family knew them, my sons.  I wish that for them, and it makes me sad. 

For now, tho, I need to find more glitter puffy paint for the treat sacks.  I think about all that other stuff later.

Maybe.

Priorities, you know.