Good Morning Gentle Readers,
It wasn't hot enough here at Casa de las Rocas Grande so we packed the kids, the cousins, and Aunt Linda (formerly known as The Flooze) into the politically incorrect SUV and cruised out to Knott's Soak City in Palm Springs (107 and thunderstorms). Dude, there were more fat kids with man-boobies and jelly roll tummies than you could shake a stick at.
This was the final installment on That Boy's ninth birthday celebration. Used to be that every three or four years your mom would invite a bunch of neighborhood kids over. They'd show up with a gift wrapped bag of cheap plastic army men, try mightily to pin a fake tail on a donkey thumbtacked to the back wall of the garage, and swill some Kool Aid to wash down the birthday cake. Two hours and, Bam, you were done.
Good gravy, today, even people we think of as poor are dropping hundreds of dollars for birthday bashes at Chuck E Cheese and the local skating rink.
Seems as though birthdays are more like Christmas used to be, which I suspect is a testament to the often ignored affluence in America.
The House Blond (right end) went to a birthday party in June. They piled the girls into a Hummer limo and whisked them off to Girl Mania, a girly-girl salon geared specifically to little girls, where they got their hair and nails done up just spiffy (and they dare curse us for our decadence).
TWC thought some of those water slides were more fun than a roller coaster. The red one was great, just like I imagine a luge ride might be. Goes to show, I suppose.