An Eight-Year-Old's Birthday

Eight years ago, right about this time, we were all welcoming Magnolia June into this world. That's darling Gibson hugging his mother and meeting his new sister, Maganolia, which is how he said her name. 

The holy trinity.

Auntie May holding that sweet squish of a girl. 

And this one from the morning after Maggie was born with her sweet brother Owen who had been waiting his whole life for this. That's what he told me. 

We do birth right around here. Well, we do birth the way we like to do birth around here. Strong mamas and excellent midwives, daddies right there helping, sisters, brother, grandfather, grandmother. We all gather and are, at this point, a very good team of baby-welcomers. It is one of the most profound gifts of my life that my daughters have been able to give birth at home. That they WANTED to give birth at home. And that the entire family has been there for them in any way we are needed or wanted and that the joy is shared among us, magnifying and glorifying it. 

And here we are, eight years later. Maggie wanted a skating party today and so the first part of the afternoon was at the rink where Jessie and the boys joined her. I hear that fun was had by all. And then we all gathered at the nice little park by the library for presents and playing, cake and a piñata. These outdoor parties are the best because no one has too much to clean up, no one's house gets trashed, all the kids get to romp and yell and it's simple and easy. 
Magnolia was pleased as punch. 

Here are some pictures. 

Owen directing the piñata breaking. He's wearing his Rolling Stones T-Shirt because he knew I'd love that. 

Levon, determined to bust that thing open. 

Maggie being sung to before she blew out her candles. We actually did a decent version of Happy Birthday. This is not always the case. Would you look at that cake? Lily made it. Of course. As I told her, "You did not get your cake-decorating gene from me."
I'm the one who makes cakes that everyone says of, "I'm sure it will taste good."

And all of us were there to celebrate our girl, including Candie, my cleaner and Lily's friend, and her kids and husband. It was a good party and I will admit to you that before we left the house, I was absolutely certain I could not possibly deal with it. I felt so overwhelmed. But it was okay. It really was. 

I love my family so much. We are fucking amazing. And we love our babies. 

There was a mother and a father and their baby at the park. The little girl was probably about sixteen months old and she was toddling about and was fascinated with Sophie, who was also there. Immediately, almost our entire family turned towards that little child with such yearning and delight on our faces. As I told the mama, "Our family loves babies more than anything."
And Hank said, "As you can tell from the number of children here."

I'm sorry I haven't answered yesterday's comments but let me tell you that I am so grateful for all of them and I am also saddened that many of us are all feeling the same things. Perhaps it is the winter and the way things slow down in the cold and gloom. The sap does not run in the trees, the plants are all dormant, every bit of their growth hidden to our eyes, but will surely be revealed when it is time. These things affect us all, no matter how evolved and sophisticated we may believe we are. 
I guess to everything there is a season. 
But is there a purpose to everything under heaven? 
Philosophers could discuss this for eons without coming to a sound conclusion but I personally think not.

Some things definitely happen for a reason and this can be abundantly apparent. Other things- well, if they happen for a reason the reason must be that there is a god and he is a cruel and vengeful bastard.

I think I would just rather believe that life can be pretty random and so often unpredictable. 

Happy birthday, Magnolia June. You are so loved. 

Eight years old. How can this be? 
When I said good-bye to her this afternoon I said, "Thank you for inviting me to your party."
"I didn't even invite you to my party," she replied. "My mommy did." 

She's not wrong. Oh, the literalness of children. How I love them. 

Love...Ms. Moon