So we threw a little party over the weekend. I may be a bit prejudiced, but I think it was an affair that would have made Martha Stewart weep with pride, as she mentally planned a six-page, full-color magazine layout on it.

Truly, if a party can be judged by how many young soldiers were in the squirt gun war…

…and how many little people survived direct shots to the face…

…and how many ambushes were staged…

…and how many escapes were rerouted around the back of the house…

…and how big everyone smiled…

…and how many layers of protective squirt gun armor were donned…

…and how wet everyone got…

…and how many crazy faces were made…

…and how many times the refilling station (the Safe Zone!) was visited…

…and the fact that only a few citizens made it through the night with dry clothes…

…and how many dry towels you had to send Sister out to collect from her house…

…and the fact that there were no candles on the premises, so someone blew out a Bic Lighter, while the gathered crowd sang a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday” to him…

…and how thrilled you were with all of your birthday presents…

…and the fact that it took at least three grown men to hang a 600-thread-count, Egyptian cotton queen-sized sheet on the side of the house…

…and the fact that there was more popcorn than everyone could ever dream of eating…

…and how, at the final count, you had forty-three people sprawled around your front yard, watching an outdoor viewing of The Sandlot, which played on that 600-thread-count sheet, and how even some of the neighbors came out to watch the movie…

…then I would say it was a very, very successful birthday party.

Martha Stewart would expect nothing less when ushering a special little fellow into double digits.