So, I’ve briefly touched on the fact that someone I love is very ill. And while it is slowly breaking my heart, life actually, maddeningly goes on. And I find myself looking for sparks of inspiration and light in the darkness, a way to reframe everything that is happening and assign meaning rather than blame. So we are holding a birthday party for her, an combo last-blast/swan-song. Except my three year old is helping plan it. So it looks something like this…

There will be a huge bouncy house, and not just a plain non-descript bouncer that pretty much would ensure hours of shenanigans, but a Frozen themed bouncy house. With Frozen party favors, hats, and an ice blue three-tiered cake. And a water table, and a miniature swimming pool. And catered sandwiches, and snacks, and juice, and balloons! Lots of balloons. And plenty of booze as well, for the adults, of course. It is an open house, come as you are, free for all, and friends and family will hopefully surround us.

It sounds strange, but as we proposed the idea to sicky she became extremely excited. Gleeful almost, and this has become a huge event in her life to look forward to. So I got to wondering, why the hell do we play down our birthdays as we get older? Why does it suddenly become gauche to have themed, huge celebrations of our life? Because our journey is short and precious. So we’re going to party like three year olds.