Family Birthday Party

“Auntie Kate is coming.”

We pulled into the driveway at the same time. M hopped out of her car, and I handed her the Spider suit I’d brought — my do-over after the birthday one didn’t fit. She lit up like I’d just delivered her Amazon cart in one box, clutching it like treasure before racing inside.

I slipped in unnoticed after that. Sis was wrapped up in Mocha and distracted by the occasional three — M (still glowing from her driveway score), L, and baby C — while I beelined straight to my Bubs. He was busy, obviously, eating, but I still heard the sweetest little “Teetee” from the corner. I asked, “Can I have a kiss?” and he leaned his tiny forehead my way like it was the most natural thing in the world. My heart. (Kid could be in the middle of a Golden Corral buffet and still make room for me.)

Meanwhile, Sis leaned into Mocha’s shoulder and whispered, all breathless, “Auntie Kate is coming.” He turned her around — and sure enough, there I was. Her little eyes lit up like fireworks. (Keep it together, Kate. Don’t cry in front of the occasional three — they’ll meme me for life.) She wriggled out of his arms, bolted at full speed, and screamed, “QUEEN POPPY!!!” before launching herself into me.

I have a rule: I don’t let go of hugs until they do. I want them to feel the full weight of my love. And oh, she stayed clenched around my neck for a long time. When she finally leaned back, she cupped my cheeks and said, “Tell me about Bilmuri.” Sweet girl. (Imagine being three and already asking for concert reviews like she’s hosting a podcast.) I told her Johnny Franck sounded incredible and looked adorable, but I wanted to hear about the beach. She went off about waves and sand and the pool before scampering back to her cousins. (Five years old and already dodging questions like a seasoned politician.)

Dinner time. M and L buzzed around like caffeinated hornets while baby C babbled from her mommy’s lap. L was relentless, stopping every adult who walked by with his wide-eyed con to “tell Alexa to play the Bluey song.” We’d already promised after dinner, but he knows he’s hard to say no to. (Kid’s got the hustle of a used car salesman — dangerous skill for a preschooler.)

After plates cleared, I delivered on my promise. Bluey theme song, followed by Dance Mode — instant chaos. M and L were tearing through the living room, Sis jumped in full throttle, and Bubs joined late after finally finishing his plate. We spun in circles, dipped, twirled, and stomped until the music slowed. (Picture Coachella, but with apple juice shots and pull-ups in the audience.)

That’s when Bubs hugged me — long, tight, whispering into my shoulder and patting my back like he was the grown-up. “Teetee home.” He says it every day at nap, but tonight it hit different. Less a fact, more a sigh of relief. He’s his mama’s boy, but if she’s out of sight, I’m the next best thing. (Fine, I’ll take silver medal — still comes with a podium and a hug.)

Cake time. Every kid got their turn at a candle and a wish. Some whispered theirs, some kept them guarded, some just giggled and blew. Pure magic — messy, sticky, perfect. (Hallmark could never.)

And then came the balloons — just a few, one for each kid. M, L, Sis, and Bubs raced around trying to keep theirs afloat, squealing every time one hit the ground. Baby C just stared in amazement, wide-eyed like she’d stumbled onto the greatest show on earth. (Forget Disney on Ice — four balloons and gravity apparently do the job.) The house roared with giggles, squeaks, and chaos, the best kind of noise.

It was the perfect Saturday.

And as if that wasn’t enough, my phone buzzed later with a video from M. She’d finally gotten into the Spider suit, striking superhero poses in her living room and blasting finger webs like she owned the city. (Move over, Ghost Spider — M is in the house.)