I love a kids’ birthday party where the parents are either A) invited to drop the kids and run, B) allowed into the bounce houses and trampolines, or C) offered alcoholic drinks.
Much to my giddy delight, we went to two 6-year-old birthday parties last weekend where 2 out of the above 3 options happened. Because both of the parties were for my good friends’ kids, we stuck around with the kids and parents instead of dropping off the girls and gleefully skipping to our car yelling, “WE’RE FREEEEEEE!!!!” only to return at the latest possible minute to pick them up.
Even though the first party started at TEN AY EM on a Saturday morning, all was forgiven when we adults were allowed into the gym space where the inflatable bounce houses and running ramp trampoline lived.
I just have to say a big THANK YOU JEEBUS AND OPRAH to myself for remembering to stick on that lady peepee pad because this girl got on that trampoline and jumped and jumped and jumped until something in my lower back said, “Girlfriend, all that jumping means your whole 200+ pounds lands on me and that shit hurts.”
That’s when I took to the ginormous blow-up slide that my kids slid on non-stop for an hour. And let me tell you. Sliding down upside down and backwards on a 30 foot (or so it looked) tall inflatable slide is one of life’s true pleasures. Try it. I’m serious. Climb your fatass up that dirty, vinyl plasticy material-not-found-in-nature ladder stair steppy thing, and slide upside down and backwards, and your outlook on life will be changed in an instant.
I also had the opportunity to take my first of many planking photos:
I had honest-to-God fun jumping and bouncing and sliding with my kids and my friends. At my old age of 34 and heavyweight status, I had to take a break to watch in awe of the 1/2 pint kids who never once stopped moving. It’s like the children have an intravenous line feeding them a never-ending supply of black magic energy. I think for adults they call it “crystal meth.” Thank GOD the kids don’t end up losing their teeth and have random scabs on their faces because of it. WAIT… Is never-ending kid energy really crystal meth? I think I’m on to something.
I’m proud of myself for not caring if I made a fool of myself for jumping and having fun. I just thank Pushed-Two-Babies-Within-18-Months-Of-One-Another-Out-of-My-Bagina Me for sticking in that pantyliner so I didn’t get caught peeing down my leg as I jumped.