Wot larks, Pip

My sister Kristen passed a major milestone this weekend -- thirty years of blessing this planet with her selfless and generous spirit. She really deserved a blowout party, but she wanted just family so  ....  we obliged. Her husband brought her over after we had decorated the house and whipped up some mocha cupcakes (gluten-free, so I could eat them (April being the month of the Great Gluten-Free Experiment). 

They were yum-diddle-icious!

Upon arriving, my sister complimented Caroline on her clean face, apparently an anomaly worth noting. It didn't last long, though. After the first cupcake, the wee one requested another, only to be told that if she would just lick around her mouth, she'd easily find her seconds there. 

My mother-in-law also came, bringing my two nieces, who then stayed for the rest of the weekend. See, one really nice thing is that my husband's family considers my family to be part of their own. So, "just family" can be generously interpreted. (I know this is unusual. Get this: Ten years ago, before my SIL and started reproducing, we all went camping together in Yosemite, which was the first time in recorded history that my family did not experience a downpour on a campout. We hardly knew what to do with ourselves in the middle of the night without dashing out to throw tarps over everything and shiver in our sodden sleeping bags.) 

Anyway, back to the party. We played pin-the-tail on the donkey and Snorta, a very fun family game at which I am very bad. It involves speed, you see, and instant visual recall. Let's just say that Mama always gets to model good sportsmanship when we play this game. 

She also got to model good sportsmanship when all five children decided to have a water fight after dinner (Actual words from my soulmate, on his way out the door: "All right, you guys can do that, but just don't make mud, OK?" BWAHAHAHAHA! Can I have some of whatever you're smoking, dear?) My children seem to hold the philosophy that whenever friends visit (the more the better), they must all cover themselves in  mud from head to toe, track said mud through the house, and finish off with a giant bathing fest in the bathroom. (See also, "Friday Afternoons with Truman.") A playdate just ain't a playdate unless Mama's down on her hands and knees with towels and a spray bottle. 

Just wait 'til they have kids. Grandchildren will be my best revenge, and I plan to welcome them to this earth by presenting their parents with a  mop and a bucket. 

There will be mud.