kinda sorta birthday party

I tell you what, we run my mama ragged. It doesn't matter if we're talking about a full Thanksgiving dinner or three frozen pizzas (with toppings added) and a salad. Doesn't matter if the guest list is every cousin and 15 friends or the nearest and dearest, complete with babies. We are just gonna wear my mama clean out.



Last night we got mama to throw herself a small bash in honor of her birthday, something she's not all that into. Basically, we all want to descend upon her and then eat cake. It was a lickety-split sort of evening. If you sat still more than five minutes, you probably had a baby, a cigarette, or a slice of venison pizza in your hands. And those babies are wiggly buggers!



Waylon crawled four-on-the-floor for about a day and a half before going straight to the tripod stage (adorable) and is now racing along. This, in turn, sets Owen back a little. His easily-manipulated little friend can now hold his own - a good lesson for any child to learn!





That bruiser of a boy, in the mean time, was trying out this whole "walking in shoes" thing for the first time, and handling it like a champ. I fed him ice until we were both soaking wet and chilly, but he kept popping that wee mouth open like a birdie.




In the end, I know I had a good time. When we get together, no matter what, we make each other laugh. Oh, we're a lucky bunch.

Getting the story backwards.

Wait, doesn't it say three wise men went to visit one baby? Damn it, we've got this backwards.

Seriously, though, we've got a bumper crop this year, y'all. I remember being a young'un, going to bonfire parties and singalongs with my hippie parents, playing with the other kids in the flickering, cold night. I remember dozing in the back of our VW Rabbit, watching upwards out of the back window as the trees flickered over us, riding down a canopy road from the Land Co-op or Oxbottom back to our little place in Lloyd.

And here we are again. My sister and my friends having their firsts - all boys this time around - and bringing them to parties. It won't be long before they are weaving through the crowd, planning raids on the snack table, flirting with the ladies, showing off their best toys to each other.

Cycle of life, y'all. Oh, and go check out my Xmas present for my own sweet mama: her blog is now easier than ever to find or recommend at blessourhearts.net - her own domain name!

let me tell you about my friend T-bone

She and I dated for 5 years and have been close buds for 5 more.

She can cook up anything from escargot to vegan sloppy joe. She can drink a 12 pack of beer and walk a straight line. She can balance two jobs and taking care of a mom with issues. She can dance like a muppet. She can tell a joke (as long as it is one of a half dozen she knows). She can make a tshirt look pretty damn good.

What can't she do? Wash dishes. Name a cat anything except Baby (she currently shares a tiny apartment with Old Baby and Good Baby). Whistle. Make friends with girls I date.

Last night, she took something off the can't list. See, she was an end of life surprise for her dad - in her 20s, she's the youngest of 5 kids, and the oldest is in his 60s. Her experience with babies is in the range of slim to none. But a bunch of our friends and loved ones have started spawning, and now there are newborns everywhere. The thing is, T-bone's never held one. The youngest kid to ever sit in her lap was a few years old, and that was only for a few seconds.

But Brother B put his wee one in her arms last night and stepped back. She whispered to Waylon, "When you're older, we're going to be best friends." She peered into his little face and he blinked back sleepily. She cried a little. T-bone and babies - who knew?

ch-ch-ch-changes

Well, there we are. Some of us, anyway. The parade party is such an in-and-out affair. The biggest difference between this year and, say, 2005 (my first spring in the Fives) is all the babies. Look at all those young'uns. I remember going to big shindigs with my family as a wee one, with the grownups disappearing in small groups and coming back smelling funny, meeting other kids that I still run into (mostly, admittedly, in bars and at shows). So I look at my friends' babies and think, here we go again.

As for the parade itself, we cheered nearly every float, beauty queen, marching band, business, politician, community group, poop-scooping prisoner, and boiled peanut vendor who went past my house. Now, there was pretty much dead silence as the Sons of Confederate Vets went slouching past us, with one or two calls of "out with the old south, in with the new!" and "you're standing in the way of progress!" I know, some folks just love the play the martyr, and I'm as proud a southerner as you'll find, but damn. Give up all that crap and get up here with the rest of us. I promise, it's a lot more fun. But I suspect they're not doing as well these days - it looks like they couldn't afford to bring in that one Black Confederate that hires out to groups like that so they can claim not to be racists.

Days of prep, hours of party. Still well worth it.

TMH babies

My hippie folks had my three sisters at home, midwives directing, female relatives and friends cooking and tending to the rest of us kids. I came first and took longest, so I got to be the only hospital baby. Like most of my closest friends, I popped out at Tallahassee Memorial on Magnolia.

This day and age, it's kind of a funny feeling to know you live like a peasant in your home village, walking distance from your birthplace. On the one hand, have I wandered far enough afield? On the other, I can't explain the feeling of security and comfort I get from such an anchored feeling of place. Not rooted completely - I could pull up and haul off if I had to. I've done it before, Lord knows. But anchored against the storms of life, protected from the big winds.

I'm at the age now where a bunch of my buddies are busy having their own sprats. Twice now, a bunch of the regular gang have packed a cooler and hid out in a dark corner of the new Women's Pavilion parking lot to basically tailgate waiting during a birth. At least three more little 'uns are due to emerge in the next couple months. I just want to help leave those guys with a good place to call home.