Saturday Snapshot

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link to your post on Alyce's blog At Home With Books. Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. How much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don’t post random photos that you find online.
"Did you see what your hooligan friends did out front?"my husband asked.
"Oh, no," I said. And I went to see.
They decorated my front yard with huge bras and white cotton panties along with signs celebrating my birthday.
I guess there's no getting around the fact that I'm 50. 

What are you all featuring today?

A Cascade of Cards

I have a birthday -- a milestone birthday -- coming up this week. And all month my running friends (mostly Pam) have been deluging me with birthday cards.

And some not-birthday cards. As the cards started to arrive in the mail, I felt guilty. I mean, was Pam buying the cards, plus shelling out for the postage? Even at the dollar store, that would get expensive.
Some of the cards weren't about birthdays, like this one that shows a horse biting the back of a boy's head.

Or this one with the bulldog watching the goldfish.

Inside each card, no matter if the message was about the loss of a pet or getting well, my upcoming birthday was mentioned.
Today a card arrived that congratulated me on the birth of my baby, and Pam wrote "Sorry I'm late." Only 16 years too late since my youngest is 16! But, as you can imagine, it made me laugh.
The card below seemed very appropriate for my arrival smack dab in the middle of middle age, with an adorable toddler who looks better with the pudgy thighs than I do.

After Pam confessed she was behind the cards, along with Stephanie, she admitted that, getting ready to move, she discovered a closet full of cards she had bought through the years intending to send to friends and loved ones. That's why the cards had a variety of sentiments rather than just birthday cards. Pam helped me feel less guilty about all the money she might have spent on cards just to make me smile.
Thanks, friends for the birthday wishes and all the birthday cards that have kept my mailbox full every day of my birthday month.

Tonight I'm Going to Party Like I'm 18!

We had Grace's 18th birthday party at a dance studio with 35 to 50 of her closest friends.
Other than writing the check, it's the easiest birthday party ever. We lugged in chips and pop. Grace made cupcakes so we didn't have to do a birthday cake, blow out the candles scene in the middle of the party.
She sent out Facebook invitations. She rushed to a camp counselor meeting an hour before and the outfit she had planned to wear didn't work. Luckily, a friend who came to fix her hair in the spare 15 minutes before the party brought 3 outfits. Grace grabbed one of hers, and voila. Instant glamorous 18-year-old.
People showed up. And showed up. And showed up.

We just kept welcoming them and directing them toward the coat rack until Ron, the dance instructor/dj got them out on the floor and led them through their moves.
Then they danced.

They took breaks to grab drinks, mostly water, in spite of the pop we'd carried in. Then they danced some more. Sheila came too and took pictures. Thanks, Sheila!

There was no dirty dancing, except for one couple and they weren't even very good at it. Instead they focused on group dances like the ChaCha Slide and the always fun Snake Dance.

There was a lot of sweating and laughter, so overall, I'd definitely call this a success.

The Trauma of Turning 18

It's official. My eldest child is now 18 -- an adult.
This is how fast it has gone: One minute she is a two week old with colic, crying and crying, inconsolable - the next she is a 5-foot, 10-inch young woman slicing through the water like an arrow, bobbing up with a smile.
She's been in tears for nearly a week now imagining the horror of this birthday and the responsibility of becoming an adult.
To her turning 18 means she has ended that blissful state of childhood. And I have to admit, Grace has taken advantage of childhood. She has squeezed every drop of imaginary play and kicking tantrum that she can from childhood. Even without the birthday numbers though, she became responsible and inched her way into adulthood before 18.
"I can be arrested now!" she bemoaned.
"Don't do anything illegal," Tucker advised.
"If I hit Tucker, it's illegal instead of just a brother and sister fighting," she cried.
Tucker and I listed all of the benefits of being 18. She can get a tattoo. She can get piercings. She could gauge her ears.
Of course, we're cracking up at the thought because Grace hates pain -- hates it and would never do any of those things.
"You can sign yourself out of school," I suggested. That one quieted her down a bit.
"Will they still call you?" she asked.
Having one child reach adulthood doesn't feel like the relief I might have imagined. It doesn't seem like the burden has left my shoulders. I haven't brushed off my hands and said, "That one finished."
I can't protect her forever, but I have brought her to this place, to this adult line and helped her cross over fairly intact. Now I'll have to watch while she inches forward trying to decide if she wants to try her wings.
Are you sure this is the same kid? Grace in the Luxembourg Gardens at 14 and then at 17 in her senior picture