My utterly amazing family and Abby's 10th birthday party

Thursday was Abby’s 10th birthday, which still feels impossible to say out loud. I officially have a kid in double digits, and I’m not convinced that should be allowed.

On my mom’s side of the family, tenth birthdays are… a thing. A big thing. I used to think it was just a Texas quirk, but I’ve since realized it’s more of a love language—one that involves travel plans, head counts, and a total disregard for subtlety. When someone turns ten, the village shows up.

Which is why, earlier this month, Abby came to me with a very serious request.

“Mom,” she said, “I don’t need a huge party. Can you please tell Grandma and Aunt Jenn I just want to stay in Arizona and maybe go to dinner with you guys?”

This is Abby in a nutshell. Thoughtful. Quiet. Deeply aware of her own limits.

I told her that was fine with me—but also warned her that it might break a few hearts. And that there was a very real possibility they would all just… come anyway. Because I cannot imagine my sister Jennifer ever missing an opportunity to organize the flock.

Guess what happened.

When I told Jenn that Abby didn’t want to travel, she didn’t even hesitate. “Well,” she said, “then we’re coming to you.” No outs. No debate. Just a plan.

So when we pulled into our driveway Thursday night after Abby’s birthday dinner, my in-laws’ RV was parked out front. Inside our house were five extra adults and seven extra kids—including my brand new nephew Connor, born January 5th, whose first interstate trip was to his cousin’s birthday party.

That’s how serious my family is about turning ten.

The house was suddenly full: my mom, my sisters, both of Bubs’ parents, his sister and brother-in-law, and our entire herd of cousins—plus two babies. Ashley recognizing both of her grandmas was one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.

Abby was genuinely thrilled. Maddie, now fifteen, is one of her idols. Aiden (also about to turn 10)  is one of her best friends—another quiet kid with big dreams. She soaked up the hugs and the attention… and I could also see the moment when the noise started to wear on her.

Because Abby is as much an introvert as I am an extrovert.

Where I gain energy from chaos, she loses it. Where I think more people makes everything better, she’s already calculating where she can disappear for a few minutes and breathe. Sometimes I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m kind of an idiot—and honestly, she’s probably not wrong.

Here’s an example. I told Abby she could stay home from school on Friday because everyone was here. She declined—she didn’t want to get behind.

Me? I kicked my husband out of our bed and stayed up all night having a slumber party with my sisters. Yes, it’s kind of idiotic for the two younger sisters to gang up on the oldest and tickle her until she laugh/cries while accusing her of getting a boob job (she hasn’t—she’s just genetically gifted).

We scheduled Abby’s party for Saturday after wrestling practice at Peter Piper Pizza. Her cousins cheered her on and were in awe of how skilled she is, and then we drove straight to the pizza place where seven kids (plus two babies far too young to participate) ran around like feral animals. We spent far too much money on bad pizza and cheap games, and the kids negotiated and fought over cheap plastic prizes they didn’t even remember on the ride home.

Abby loved every minute of it—but her social battery was completely drained. When we got home, she just wanted to sleep in the quiet RV with Bubs’ parents. I think that may have been the best present she got all day. She even took Maddie and Aiden with her, and according to my mother-in-law, they were all asleep by 9:30.

It was not that quiet back at our house.

The four younger cousins—born within a year of each other—turned my living room into a video game and pillow-combat zone well into the wee hours of the morning. Eventually, my sisters and I had to act like grown-ups and tell them to go to sleep.

One of my biggest fears when we moved to Arizona was that weekends like this would never happen again.

What I didn’t consider was that the people who love us would never let that happen—not even for twelve hours of driving. Not even for an introverted kid who didn’t ask for a big party.

They showed up anyway.