This weekend we went to a crayyy-zayyy Brazilian style birthday bash for one of our closest friends.

The party was held at our friend's mom's house (did you get that, sometimes too many apostrophes confuse me, too), that used to belong to circus people.

I know.

They even had hooks in their two story living room from where the circus freaks former owners used to practice their trapeze act.

I know.

They also had an excavator, and a bull dozer chillin' in their backyard. Just because they might need them someday.

I know.

It was nuts, and Lovebug was in 'this place is crazy' kid Heaven.

They had a bonfire at the party that you could seriously see from space.

At one point, the 20 by 20 foot bonfire jumped from the firepit onto a stack of wood sitting next to it (not the best place for it), and I nearly had a heart attack.

Everyone else was partying away, show-must-go-on style, and I was gripping Lovebug for dear life planning our escape down the long driveway.

I was alone with my mild serious panic attack, no one else was going to let some teeny, raging forest fire ruin their fun.

Those Brazilians are ballsy, they don't need no water... (5 points to anyone who guesses what song this is from)

Lovebug on the other hand, was obsessed with the massive fire, which looked like something volunteer fire departments might practice on.

Why wouldn't he be I guess, I mean, he does have the Meanest Mommy of the Year saying, "No," to even a lit candle on his birthday cake.

Speaking of birthday cakes...

Did you know Brazilians get super freaking excited about singing Happy Birthday??

Me either.

When my family sings to me it sounds like the damn funeral march (is that a thing?).

Everyone is monotone and trying to be more quiet than the person next to them, as if they can un-sing the song into silence and mumbling.

After seeing the Happy Birthday shenanigans of a Brazilian family last night, let me tell you, I have been deprived of a real birthday song for my entire life.

Not one person has ever stomped their feet, yelled really loud, spun around in circles, or booty popped (yup, that happened) in my birthday honor.

I've had the same old, womp, womp song, here's your candle, here's your cake, blow it out, done....  for twenty-seven years.

(Take notes Husband, this year I'd like a choregraphed song and dance, equipt with batons lit on fire.)

I have to admit I spent most of the night with my mouth on the floor.

I am way too sheltered.

I loved the food, that is probably spelled with accent marks, the Shakira style hip shaking on the front porch, and the cackling of the nearly-put-me -into -labor, scared -the -shit -out -of -me bonfire.

I loved that everyone was so welcoming, offering hugs, empinadas, and whatever the hell a "taquito" is, from all sides.

I loved watching Lovebug explore this crazy big old house, with a secret hiding place under the stairs where the dancing midgets from the circus lived.

Okay, I made that part up, we saw a lot of things, but we didn't see any midgets.

Our crazy night was one of the best we've had in a long time.

Lovebug was over-stimulated, over-sugared, and over-loved, in every direction he went.

And at the end of the day, that is the kind of life we are trying to create for him.

One with people from all backgrounds, new faces and different places on a daily basis.

A life so full that he passes out in the car on the way home... in the middle of singing Happy Birthday in a different language.

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