Eight and Five.

The other things that happened this fall were my daughters' birthdays.

Here's what I mean: Marley is now eight.  She is completely over pink, adores Katy Perry, and decided this fall to try basketball.  Rudy is a five-year-old.  I've been telling people at work that it feels, in a way, like I never left.  That's just another version of every mother's lament that her children were babies just yesterday.  My girls are so big now.

Marley celebrated her birthday on a Sunday, which meant that she could have a casual morning of cartoons and pajamas, the greatest gift of all.  She received a purple safe for hiding treasures that she had to have, and that she's barely touched since.

She also got a Rainbow Loom, and is now watching all sorts of instructional bracelet-making YouTube videos, just like every other seven- to twelve-year-old I know.

One of her very favorite gifts was the make-up set from Claire's that she bought on her own, sort of, with the gift card I gave her.  I don't know what is so appealing about make-up to that kid, but she loves it, and I love her, so: here you go, Bean.  Have a case of makeup with crazy gliding compartments filled with things like eyeshadow that you're only allowed to wear at home.

For her birthday dinner, Marley wanted to go to IHOP.  It was not delicious, but she was thrilled.  I made her favorite chocolate cake for dessert, and I'm pretty sure that before she blew out her candle, she wished for a kitten.

And then, at the end of October, I threw my daughters a surprise party.  While Marley and Rudy were tumbling through their Friday afternoon gymnastics classes, I was baking cakes and hanging streamers and welcoming cousins and neighbors.  When Todd called to let me know they were on their way, all the kids crouched behind our kitchen's half wall.  They burst up screaming with confetti when I gave them the signal, admittedly about two seconds too early.

Marley was surprised and so ecstatic that she did a actual dance of joy, and Rudy appeared terrified and confused.  "But it's not my birthday!" she wailed.  And she eventually began to enjoy herself, but she also had moments when she looked wilty and felt suspiciously warm.  So. 

I brought that kid right to the doctor's the next morning.  And guess who had pneumonia?  She probably got it from her sister's September strain, but she didn't have to miss any school because her two working parents had learned from those September weekends when they foolishly assumed that Marley would just, I don't know, get better over the weekend.  Instead, we got Rudy on antibiotics Saturday morning, got a prescription for a nebulizer, and laid low.  By Monday, she was ready for Circle Time again.

Rudy's birthday was on a Wednesday, so after school I picked her and Jackson up and brought them to the carousel in the mall's food court.  That, along with a balloon and a small cup of frozen yogurt, comprised most of the day's celebrations.

Later we picked up Marley from gymnastics and met Todd downtown for a birthday dinner, and Rudy happily ignored the food while playing with the three brand new stuffies she insisted on carrying with her the entire day.  I was so happy that we were at my absolute favorite new dining establishment and not IHOP, but I was feeling sleepy and sort of sick, so I didn't even eat that much, and I didn't even feel like enjoying my fancy craft cocktail.

Because we were seated by the restaurant's wood oven, the girls were melting halfway through the meal, too.  So we ordered a sticky bun to go, and decorated it with six candles (one for good luck) when we got home.  And then Rudy blew them out before wishing, and I was exhausted and feeling worse, and I crawled into bed even before the clean-up and good night rituals got started.  

 I was more enthusiastic the second time around, tonight, when Rudy and almost all of her classmates, along with her cousins and a handful of other friends, celebrated her fifth birthday at Pump It Up.  There was racing and screaming and sweating and lots of bouncing and sliding.  

I'm pretty sure that every single one of the children in this photograph will have willingly plopped into bed tonight.  And I love how crazy happy my Rudy Toot can be.