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I know it says it's been five days since my last post, but honestly, I just don't know how that can be. I mean, my body feels like it has been a millennium since my last missive, my brain is about coelenterate-level in cognitive capability, but truly, where did the time go?

Last Wednesday was my daughter's birthday. I am pretty sure I posted about the lasagna birthday dinner I crafted. The following few days though, they were the whirlwind of impending birthday party doom.

Okay, not doom, but while I was trying to get my schoolwork done for the week I was also doing things like paper mache-ing a pinata for her party that Saturday. Yep, like in the old days of Kat-fam birthday parties, I trotted out a homemade pinata filled with about thirty pounds of candy for the girl's fete.

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And in typical Kat-fam tradition, things got interesting.

The plan was for us to have a family-friendly birthday party from about 3-6 in the afternoon on Saturday, and then the young adult children would take over and have a bonfire and *activities* out in my barnyard field. The hubs and I even made them a very nice bonfire pile to enjoy.

Well, the first item of interest occurred when the no longer small kids started pummeling the pinata. I had given my last big box to a friend, it was filled with blueberry scones, so I had to unite two boxes together for the pinata in order for all the candy to fit. I used wooden dowels. Mistake number one.

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My bufforilla son hit the pinata so hard that one of the dowels shot through the box and smacked my stroke patient dad right in the head. I had no idea that happened until I saw my mom and aunt huddled around my dad (he was sitting like fifteen feet away out of the carport where the pinata killing was happening. 

One of the pieces of shrapnel had hit him in the nose and he was bleeding. My husband was laughing. A lot. Good grief. (Dad's just fine and has an awesome scab war wound.)

Then, after a rousing funeral dirge-like *Happy Birthday* singing to the girl by all the people in attendance, we proceeded to devour the eighty cupcakes I had made and ice cream and punch. There was conversation aplenty and the overall scene and vibe was one of enjoyment. 

Then, while I was saying goodbye to one set of friends, I heard an explosion. In my house. 

One of the youths had found a firework in the boy's bedroom. He had asked my husband if he could light it and throw it under the bathroom door while my son took a pee. 

That was interesting as well.

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And the fun didn't end there. My brother is, well, unique. It is the somewhat the by-product of our genetics as well as our unique logger's kids upbringing in the wilds of Alaska and the PNW. Bro is loud, brash, and an incredibly good time at a party.

The bonfire part of the fete, it had begun.

I can happily report, aside from some puke piles around the field, no one was maimed or injured. I think a shopping cart was ill-used and there was probably a profuse need for ibuprofen at some point the following day, especially by my bro, but the young adult part of the celebration was more than a good time as well.

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Now though, now I am going to go out and sit in the sun and just bake for awhile. This Kat needs a reprieve, because May is about to begin, and holy life happenings is it going to be a banger!

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<center>*And as most of the time, all of the images in this post were taken on the author's slightly scented in buttercream and pine cone smoke iPhone.*</center>

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