Today is my mama’s birthday.

Tomorrow is my daddy’s birthday.

It’s no surprise around here that I’m close to my parents.

What may or may not surprise you is this–we are ONE WEIRD FAMILY.

My parents are really special people. Anyone who knows them will agree. They did a lot when we were growing up that I admire and means much to me now–being transparent with us, teaching us to be “real” and to love Jesus with everything in us.

But they did a lot of other things that aren’t quite as, shall we say, traditional. You see, we have this thing for being a wee bit crazy.

Like this one night.

I don’t remember now how began. All I remember is that there were GALLONS of water involved.

It might have started with the water pouring contest–the one that had us all STANDING on our chairs to see who could pour water from one glass to the other, from the highest point, without spilling any.

Of course, now that I think about it, that may have been another night.

But the night of The Big Water Fight, I know there were indeed cups involved. Cups full of water that were being poured, dumped and tossed at the other members of our wacky insane crazy fun-filled family.

Somebody ended up grabbing the sprayer thingamambobber from the sink. And let me tell ya, that was when it all REALLY got started.

Because soon the sprayer thing wasn’t enough.

The command was given. “Bring in heavier ammunition!” Being obedient children, we, of course, obeyed.

Ha. That was a tough one.

So the garden hoses were brought in. Yes, I said garden hoses. Through the doors. Into the house. Yes, they were turned to full blast. Yes, they were pointed at other members of the household. Yes, my parents were the ones holding the hoses most of the time.

(And here we come to the place in which my mother would probably ask me to tell you that this was taking place in the kitchen and the dining room–thus on the linoleum that can be mopped and not the carpet which cannot. Which, you know, made it all okay. Or something like that.)

Eventually, somebody won. I don’t even remember who. It might have been Mom. I think she got the final word in when she sneaked up behind Dad with the hose and doused him. Or maybe it was Dad, when he hid around the corner with the other hose and sprayed water on Mom and my brother when they ventured into the kitchen.

I don’t remember. None of us care anymore. (I take that back. My mom might. She’ll probably tell you she won.) But we had a crazy-wild-fun time that night, no damage was done, and I don’t know that we’ve collapsed in that many fits of laughter at any time since.

Oh, wait… unless it was the next wild and crazy night a few years later… the one which ended with silly string and shaving cream in the street in front of the house, a broken hose, an almost lost camera and (yikes) somebody going through a window. But that one involved a whole lot more people (teenagers this time–shocking, I know) and was conducted completely OUTSIDE.

Happy Birthday(s), Mom and Dad… thanks for lots of crazy memories and here’s to all the insane times to come. Although, preferably ones that DON’T create lakes in the newly remodeled dining room and kitchen, I’m kinda thinkin’.

(And if you can, go over and wish my mama a happy birthday. Albeit, a bit belated now, being that it took me literally ALL day to finish this post. Being a parent myself now tends to cause that kind of thing… at least I know she understands.)