I have spent my entire day in preparation for a certain somebody’s 8th birthday party. 

Yep.  That’s my guy Isaiah.  He just turned eight and he is pumped to be a year older.  He has been given no special eight year old privileges and yet, he is still so pumped.  It may have something to do with our family’s tradition of celebrating a birthday for at least a week.  I know that gets me pumped every year for my birthday.

We have already had our own family party.  He has gotten gifts from all of us.  He has gotten to choose a large blizzard just for himself.  We had cake and even Grandma took him out for a special date.  It is good to be eight.

He decided that he wanted to invite his friends over for a big water war.  We have a kiddie pool, water balloons and a slip-n-slide.  There are hot dogs and God willing, I will get to making that potato salad.  We even have side walk chalk for the water disenchanted kiddos. 

I skimped on goody bags and bought little water guns instead.  We also skimped a little on the “adult meal”.  Times are hard man. 

Let them eat processed meat and 100% whole wheat (enriched flour) buns!

I’m just playin’.  I have a load of chicken to barbecue, floors to mop, dog poop to scoop (just a little) and water guns to assemble in the morning.  The yard looks amazing and our half bath is half way renovated (enough for children to potty and wash their hands) thanks to my hubby.  I also have a roller derby practice to throw into the mix.  I am pretty sure I am going to paint all faces camouflage to really give the kids that water combat feel. 

Truth be told, I would do just about anything to make sure my boy felt just as happy about the day he was born as I did the first time I held his wrinkly self in my arms. 

This is one of those motherhood things not to be taken lightly.  I may suck at domesticity but I know how to party.  It’s a gift really.

P.S. What did the 0 say to the 8?

I’ll post the answer, compliments of my co-worker Kelly, for you later. :)