Usually I can count on an outdoor April birthday party for my eldest daughter to be risky. Rain. Tornadoes.

Today, unexpected heat.

No one expected to swelter at Peter Pan Mini Golf with 16 kids and 14 grownups. But the day was glorious, we had lots of bottled water, and the party went well. One darling mischief maker sent his golf ball sailing over the fence and into McDonald’s parking lot. But no windshields were involved. Hallelujah.

My baby is seven. My little wriggling squawler who cried 14 hours a day until she was 4 months old, who crawled late and walked early, who colored in the lines at two and still suffers from perfectionist tendencies to the point of not completing her work at times, has her own friends, whispers things I can’t hear to them, and kicks my butt at Frogger. Days like this I’d like to freeze time, but when it hits 86 degrees, I guess nothing much will even stay cold.

I hated to miss Spamarama. Hope you guys who went ingested plenty of canned meat product on my behalf.
Back when I was seven, we ate Spam with Karo syrup.

Thank goodness we do grow up!

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