A Little December Party

So the Jedi Clan celebrated another birthday this weekend, since the boy’s cousin, Miss A, decided that it was high time to just get SIX over with, because she was more than ready to be a mature SEVEN.

At her party, I asked Miss A if she was tall enough to be seven, and she said (and I quote!), “Well, I think I AM tall enough.  And I really feel a lot more grown up now, and some of these boys are starting to irritate me more, now that I’m seven.”

Miss A was referring to her tribe of brothers and the boy, who were running around the house like frenzied jackrabbits who had been given Pixie Stixx and Mountain Dew.  Which they hadn’t been given, because we had to be in the same house with them, and there is no way that we would have medicated the gang in that manner, without putting chunks of Valium on our birthday party pizza slices beforehand.

And also?  I think Miss A was spot on with her announcement.  Sometimes being older DOES INDEED MEAN that boys irritate you more.

Do you know what THE gift to give to seven-year-old girls is this holiday season?

Hats.

Miss A was plum thrilled with her new hats, with a genuine joy that the boy could never have mustered up for an article of clothing.

Miss A’s new Nesting Dolls were also an enormous hit.  The boy and Cousin M thought that they were fantastic, and they immediately unstacked them.  And then restacked them.  And then un-nested them.  And then nested them all back together again.

In fact, the boys had so much fun with the Nesting Dolls, that Grammy whispered, “I may have to get some for them!  They make Nesting Dolls that aren’t dolls.  There are Nesting Frogs and Nesting Dragons.”  The boy and M were thrilled at the prospect of stacking dragons from the littlest to the biggest.

It’s because dragons trump dolls every day of the week.

Miss A also found herself blessed with a new pair of slippers that were darling.

Later, the boy whispered to me, “I don’t know why everyone keeps saying that those slippers are so cute.  I think those are the STUPIDEST slippers I’ve ever seen in my entire life!  I would NEVER wear bear heads on my feet.”

Well, girls think that those slippers ARE cute.  And you know what else?  Ain’t no way a girl is going to participate in a BB gun war and say, “Three pumps!  No more than three pumps when you shoot me!”  There are some things that boys do which are just plain stupid, too.

Not that anyone in this family has ever HAD a BB gun war.

Oh, people.  You know us too well.  Hubs and his brothers and their male offspring shoot BBs at one another every now and then.  Please don’t tell Sam, our eye doctor.

I do have to say, though, that Miss A’s VERY BEST GIFT was a pair of boots that I flipped for.  I may have even stooped to the term COVETING.

People!  Is that not THE CUTEST pair of boots y’all have ever seen?  Oh my word.

“Anyone want a roundhouse kick to the head while I’m wearing these bad boys?”

(That’s from Napoleon Dynamite.  Our television watching is not always geared toward films that will win Academy Awards around the Jedi Manor.)

There’s the boy, smiling sweetly at his cousin’s party.

In fact, there were a whole lot of sweet smiles at the party.  I even managed to catch some of them with my camera.

Cousin W grinned for me.

(For the record, Cousin Dub-ya’s most notable achievement was discovering that Ranch salad dressing on a slice of pizza is one of the greatest culinary delights of all time.  He introduced this concept of squirting Ranch all over pizza to me when he was a tiny first grader, and I have enjoyed the luxury of this blessing ever since.)

(And yes, W and I squirted Ranch on our birthday party pizza this weekend.)

(Everyone else was horrendously jealous of our delicious dinners, even though they kept saying, “Gross!  That is disgusting!”)

(In our hearts, W and I knew that they were all in a food rut, and they’d never get out until they’d tried Ranch Pizza.)

Cousin M was grinning for the camera, too.

And so did Cousin B, although Cousin B did say, “I just want to look cool instead of cute for your picture.”

Oh, people.  Those of you without boys are MISSING OUT!

Cousin R was all smiles, too, even with a box on her head.

And if someone was wearing a box on her head, you can PLUM BET that Cousin M wasn’t going to miss out and let her have all the fun!

The OTHER Miss A was also at the birthday party.  The OTHER Miss A has always created some confusion for the boy, because she is a cousin to W, B, M and Miss A.  She’s on their mama’s side of the family.  Since the boy is a cousin to those four kids on their daddy’s side of the family, he’s never fully understood how the OTHER Miss A is not his cousin, too.

So we’ve always gone with it.  Any cousin of theirs is a cousin of ours.

Eventually there were pink-frosted cupcakes to be eaten, and a rousing round of “Happy Birthday” to be sung.

You can bet that there were some boisterous male baritones ringing out in that song, and that some of the words were SLIGHTLY ALTERED.

Once the pink cupcakes were devoured, the boys abandoned playing with the Nesting Dolls and the boxes.

And they did what boys do best.

They wrestled.

Over an enormous pink ball.

They tackled one another, and they rolled on the floor.  They chased one another and fell onto the sofa.  They fell off the sofa.  They grunted and broke a sweat and moaned when an elbow landed in a ribcage.

Eventually, the boys were sweating so much, clothing had to be discarded.

And then look at them.

This is the exact moment when A MATURE GROWNUP said, “Get your coats on and take the fight outside!”

See how intently they’re listening to the new game rules?

But no.

They didn’t WANT to go outside, because it was COLD.  So they switched to shooting one another with Nerf guns.

Which is considerably safer than shooting one another with a BB gun, even  if it is only done with three pumps.

And then B, seeing his moment to shine, held up the pink ball and pronounced himself THE WINNER.

He who has the pink ball in the end wins.

This self proclamation, of course, caused a riot, and the rest of the tribe attacked him.

Again.

In a fight for the ball.

And what with it being late and all, Hubs and I picked the boy up off the dog pile by the scruff of his neck and we headed home.

With everyone’s eyeballs still perfectly in place.

Happy Monday night, people.

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