So, I went and had The Fun. And it was Super. It was the Super Fun. It was almost Epic. I hate using that word for normal stuff like bubble parties, but hey, sometimes sleepovers happen when you least want them to and most need them. Also, I am nearly a lot of percent sure that I have the ESPN, or something.
Because I yesterday afternoon wrote this: “I will replace this sorrow with the holy bubbles of laughter”.
And I had no idea the party would be a bubble party. See? Clairvoyance. Those of you with hurt in your hearts, message me and I will send you the secret bubble recipe.
And while making giant bubbles I realized that all the joy that I was too busy being sad to see was captured all up in that shiny, shiny, thirty-foot bubble, and not only was it so amazingly fun to make one, the best part was hearing it filled with the helium of little girls. Yes, I climbed, or was dragged out of my shell last night, and I ended up glad, as I am so often.
At one point I felt like bonafide Mary E’ffin Poppins, because I had all four little girls asleep while I was singing all sweetly this song: “coffee grows, on white oak trees, rivers flow in brandy-o, come be the one, to dance with me, sweet as ‘lasses candy, one in the middle and you can’t dance josie, one in the middle and you can’t get around, one in the middle and you can’t dance josie, hello, susan brown.
And the deal is you have to wait until round five of that song, with your eyes all closed, all eight of them, closed, until you can ask to go pee or get water or anything. So it almost always works. Until one child needs a drink of water. Do you think that when they wake up, for the first time, not the time they actually open the door and creep onto the grown-ups, but when they wake for the first time,
do they think they are in a bubble? Doesn’t it seem like a bubble when the sun shines through your eyes for the first time in a morning? And isn’t it the same in the afternoon in the fall? Name me a thing not contained by a bubble. Name me a laugh that isn’t holy.
Go ahead, dare you.
I really, truly believe that you all need to make giant bubbles. Come over. We’ll make ’em. Heart you, poemies. Happy Saturday.