Rocco’s 7th Bday

So Rocco, the little stinker, went and turned 7 on me.  He did it in his sleep, like it was no big deal—just woke up and blamo, he was seven.

Kevin disallowed me to have an at-home birthday—something about our marriage not strong enough to survive another one—so I booked Rocco’s seventh birthday at a trampoline place.  The good part is that the planning was very miniscule compared to an at-home party.  The bad part is that for each of my kids’ birthdays I get a certain amount of party planning energy, and this time the energy had nowhere to go so I was a crazy lady anyway for the month leading up to Rocco’s birthday. 

But maybe a shade less crazy as I usually get.

The other bad part of having it at a trampoline warehousey type place: pictures.  I mean, you try your best but…


Anyone who’s been on Pinterest for more than 5 minutes knows this is totally unacceptable—the too-small background, the fluorescent lighting, the lack of giant glass jars full of color-coordinated candy.

That’s not the worst of the pictures, though.  There’s also this…




and this.


Sigh.  I’m learning the hard way that a party shouldn’t be judged by its photos, because despite the crappy quality of these pictures, the kids had an incredibly non-crappy time.  You’ll just have to take my word for it.

Rocco had picked out this cake to make from the Internet.


Simple and beautiful.  We can manage that!  I decided to let Rocco do all the decorating, even though it felt like giving my favorite doll over to the kid in the sandbox who is hitting things with a shovel with one hand while cramming sand into his mouth with the other.  But turns out I had nothing to fear.  Check out the skill!


Doh!  Spoke too soon.


I did stop Rocco when he started unwrapping a whole Snickers bar to stick on there.  I told him we didn’t want it to look like someone had squatted down and laid a fresh one on the cake.

At the party, there was bouncing (see above pictures.)

There was pegging.


There were party blowers.


There were many kids lost forever in here.


I’ll post some pretty pictures of the party tomorrow, followed by a sappy post about my baby growing up sometime after that.  Until then, enjoy this picture of a seven-year-old who, at least when he’s blowing out candles on his cake, can still bring back those kiss-me-squeeze-me squish-me big baby cheeks.


Mango salsa and chips
Sticky-finger ribs
Salmon in orange tamarind sauce
Green and yellow beans with dill
Potato and corn salad
Blackberry peach tart with oatmeal streusel

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