I blame my mother. It’s her fault I can’t just blow up a few balloons, slap up a Pin-the-Tail on the Donkey and call it a day. Growing up, my brother and I had elaborate birthday parties. From bonfires, live bands, Big Bird Treehouse cakes and special appearances by Batman, my mom was a pioneering planner who was ahead of her time even without the Pinterest cheat sheet.
I’m not going to half-ass a birthday party so when Coven’s dad and I decided to host one for Coven’s third birthday, my instinctual behavior went into overdrive and Camp Coven was born. From the idyllic setting at Three Bears Acres to the customized camp shirts made by Melody with 4th Tree, the theme resonated through every detail. To pull it off, I became best friends with Amazon and enemies with the uninvited yellow jackets.
Each time I look at the pictures from Halifax Hill Studios, I’m reminded of a perfect Saturday in August. As proud as I am of the details and seeing the planning come to fruition, I’m more gratified by the people in the photos. The friends who traveled a few hours to be there. The bestie who picked up the cake on the way because I was swamped. The parents and siblings who took my barking orders and worked feverishly to get everything decorated. We are a family riddled with divorcees and yet we were able to come together as a united tribe to celebrate one thing Coven’s dad and I got so right during our marriage. Welcome to Camp Coven.