As of yet, we, as in my little family of me, Torrin, and Mira, do not really have any traditions to speak of (unless being late everywhere counts). I didn't grow up with any real traditions, either. When it was time for my birthday when I was a kid, it meant this: that I wasn't going to have a birthday party at my house. When my grandmother lived in town, we had them there, with a friend or two, but once she moved away...not so much.
My mom wouldn't let anyone come to our house because of the cockroaches. Nice, huh? When I was in third grade, I invited a friend to spend the night without telling my mother, and I think that when the friend arrived at our door with her mother and all of her stuff, including snacks, she was too stunned to turn them away. That was Laura.
When I was in seventh grade, I got my second sleepover. By that point, her marriage to my stepdad had fallen apart and the house was well on its way to being in shambles, with too many people in it most of the time. That night, my mom's then-boyfriend made both me and my friend cry. That was Edie.
And just last night, I painted two balloons with a flour/water mixture and many, many strips of newspaper lovingly cut by Torrin. Today the balloons were dry enough to pop; they will be Torrin's birthday piñatas after they're painted tomorrow. He had two last year, made by students at the Park Teen Center where I was working then, and now he'll have home-made piñatas again this year. And I think that's far nicer of a tradition to keep going than cockroaches and crying.
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