She did it yesterday, just like they all do, despite my misgivings about another year.  She did it surrounded by costumed friends as I snapped pictures, pink tulle and happiness my only filter.  Started with a fairy bower on the deck and ended with wings and wands and barefoot running in the grass.  Began with gift bags filled with pink things and art supplies and ended with an egg in each, names written on in crayon, the true treasure to girls dressed in fancy clothes and heckling the hens for a prize.

There were wings to decorate
 and frozen fruit kebobs to gnaw on.
 And sisters to pose with, but no brothers.  They were sent away.  They’d have hated it.
 And mamas to give sugar to.
Even baby fairies.  Who knew?

 And pink cupcakes because what, really, is a girl party without them?

There was a Nana flitting around making sure all was in place and an afternoon spent coloring and popping beaded jewelry together and watching the fairy dance in circles on top of the music box one more time.  And a surprise visit from a friend who woke me up when I’d nodded off and was drooling on the throw pillows, dreaming of primary colors and sporting equipment.  She proved a perfect distraction from puddling tulle and mystical creatures.  I needed that.  And after a dinner of Totino’s Pizza Rolls and steamed broccoli for her and pecan crusted Tilapia for the rest of us, there were teeny tiny root beer floats and banana splits along with the sweetest ice cream shoppe table and chair set that will, I’m sure, ensure that we fill our days having ice cream parties with her American Girl Doll.  So much fun turning six.  Even when your mom is only partially ok with it.  Even then.  It’s so fun turning six.
This is me being real.  And pretty sure my kids keep getting older just to spite me.


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