What do bouncy houses and bladder control have in common?

I wished for both on my 41st birthday

A Rainbow bouncy castle for my birthday

"Hey guys, we got a bouncy house in the backyard today. Feel free to use it anytime this afternoon."

I'd walked across the street where my neighbor was hanging out in the front yard with her two little boys. She asked why we had a bouncy house. "I got it for my birthday," I responded. The younger boy looked confused: "How old even ARE you???"

"41."

Little dude looked at me like:

Fifteen minutes later I look out the window and see them bouncing off the walls inside the castle.

Nobody can resist the bouncy house.

You have to crawl into this thing through the tiny orange flaps, flashing everyone on the way in and out.

It was my first birthday in decades that I had a party. I didn't before because I thought, well, nobody is going to come to a party on a Monday night. It's dumb to have a party as an adult. I don't really drink, so what else do grown-ups do at parties? I don't have any real friends and nobody likes me anyway. It will be awkward. Nobody will have fun. I should just forget about it. If I can't make it the most amazing party ever, what is the point?

Writing my thoughts out loud is cringe-y. Thinking them makes me feel gross but saying them to you makes it worse. But since I'm tired of listening to that garbage, and maybe you're telling yourself similar garbage, we can just shut up our inner assholes together for a second.

And so I did what I've been practicing for a couple of years now. I say the thing out loud to someone. I commit to it verbally, even when I haven't actually made any plans or organized anything. This works for me for a really fucked-up reason: I don't like to disappoint people (I've historically been fine disappointing myself though). I don't want them to think I'm a liar and don't follow through. I feel guilty when I don't do what I say I'll do. Instead of beating myself up about this character "flaw" I've been using it to my advantage when I want to do something but feel scared or dumb or overwhelmed or unprepared and am trying to talk myself out of it.

So, I told my daughters I wanted to rent a bouncy house for my birthday. They didn't believe me. I told my friend Jill about it. She was almost as excited as I was! I texted a couple of friends asking if they could make time for a birthday party on a Monday night. They could.

Now I HAD to follow through. I spent 10 minutes on Canva making the invite:

I decided I didn't need to have a "grown-up" party. Instead of alcohol, there would be popsicles. Instead of a nice invitation, I wrote one that was unmistakably me. I bought German chocolate and made little treat bags for my guests. I got tiny cans of pop, just because they were adorable. I made a playlist with all of our favorite Gangsta Rap and RnB. I got Tupac AND cake.

It was the first time my sister visited from Germany since I'd moved to the States 20 years ago. Rob had secretly invited her for my birthday, and the two of them shared the cost of the travel, so I could have my two favorite grown-ups celebrating my birthday with me. And when I told him about my party plans he didn't tell me they were dumb or childish. Instead, he asked me what kind of cake I wanted him to bake for me.

Chocolate cake with strawberries and a side of guns. Check.

My big sister had a knee injury but I would not stop harassing her until she got into the bouncy house. Because she couldn't jump, I took it upon myself to jump hard enough to catapult her up and into the walls. If that face doesn't embody peak little sister energy, I don't know what does.

My bestie, my sister, who traveled on three planes for a million years to see me, and who is more private than I am :) Itsch liiiiiebe ditsch, Starface.

Although they never got into the bouncy house, my in-laws drove 3 hours roundtrip just to be there for a little while because it was important to me. It was rainy and windy (thanks Montana summer) but it didn't matter. Nobody drank the tiny sodas (because all my friends are health-conscious water drinkers apparently). The kids took care of them the next day. Not everyone was ecstatic about everything the entire time. It wasn't the party of the century. There were awkward moments (like when I had to run to the bathroom because all the jumping almost made me pee myself). This is a real concern now. So fun.

The point is it wasn't perfect and amazing in every way, but it was a really fun couple of hours being silly and playful and eating cupcakes and listening to TLC and being nostalgic and jumping around trying not to flash everyone.

Rob's favorite picture of me from that day. Holding my friend Jen's hand while jumping and laughing hysterically and also trying not to flash everyone else.

So why in the world am I writing a whole thing about a bouncy house birthday party?

Because I recognize myself when I meet other people who never got to be kids:

• the serious ones who can’t take a joke, because their parents viciously criticized them every day

• the clowns who can’t stop joking because their mothers were depressed and needed constant cheering

• the peacekeepers who learned to accommodate everyone while trying to pacify violent drunk partners

• the martyrs who don’t need anything, "Thank you-I’m good-I got it," who flip quickly to "I’m the only one who ever does anything around here"

• the perpetually cheery pleasers who are deathly afraid of acknowledging or expressing “negative” emotions

• the chameleons who have no identity because they were always expected to be whatever someone else demanded

At 41, I no longer feel ridiculous, self-indulgent, or childish for wanting a party with popsicles, Sir Mix-A-Lot, and a rainbow bouncy castle. In my friend Katy's words (who took these great pictures and shared this PSA): "If you get a chance to do the bouncy house, do the bouncy house." Why the fuck not?

I get to have this. You get to have this. Fun and silliness and playfulness and pleasure and joy and laughing so hard you're afraid to pee on your friends.