Category: Happy Birthday to . . . someone

. . . now, blow out the candles.

About that Birthday Party

Saturday Birthday Party
Friday night, at about 10:00 p.m., my husband commented that if he’d been in charge, he would have just paid money and had the birthday party somewhere else. I gave him the evil eye and said, “Hey, this is not the time for criticism. This is the time for support and encouragement.”

I love being 40 years old and aware enough to ask for what I need. No fights. No stomping. Just clear direction.

Saturday morning, my husband put the boys to work cleaning and picking up. Even though the first party-guest arrived at 9:50 a.m. (“Oh, are we early?”) for the 10:30 a.m. party, I was ready.

Only ten of the nineteen guests came to the party, which was excellent because I only had enough chairs for twelve. Three moms stayed to help.

The only activity I planned was a scavenger hunt in the back yard. Each child was given a paper bag with a list of eight items to locate: gum, straw, block, small ball, bubbles, star, play-doh, glitter glue. Even though it was a bit chilly, the kids had a great time running around finding things. As usual, the activity took less time than anticipated, so I stretched it out by asking them to locate the extra hidden items.

Then they trampled inside for the opening of the gifts. Meanwhile, I had corn dogs and “bagel bites” heating in the kitchen. I spontaneously created a system for the gifts–I had each child give YoungestBoy his gift, in order according to their birthdays. This system brought a small semblance of order to the chaos of ripping open gifts. While he was opening gifts, some of the boys were draping their bodies over the coffee table and sliding down. The noise level rose higher and higher and the corn dogs were not heating fast enough.

But here is the beauty of the 90-minute party. Just about the time you regret throwing the party, you only have thirty minutes left to endure. We served lunch, then cake and had only about fifteen minutes left before parents began to arrive. The boys ran and yelled and grabbed each other until they were picked up one by one.

YoungestBoy had a great time. By noon, it was all over and by 2:00 p.m., I was heading away from home as fast as I could go.

The Academy Awards
I’d accepted a typing job for the weekend, due Monday morning. I probably shouldn’t have agreed to do it, but I did. Saturday morning, no typing. Saturday afternoon, no typing. Saturday night, I began to type but only finished fourteen pages. Fatigue coupled with two sore, cracked, bleeding fingertips stopped me.

Sunday morning, no typing. Sunday afternoon, an hour of typing. But Sunday night (5:30 p.m.!) the Oscars started. What to do? I videotaped the awards and typed, typed, typed. At 10:00 p.m. I stopped typing and sat down to watch the award show. This year I saw four of the five movies nominated for Best Picture (I never did see “The Aviator”), so I was particularly interested in the results.

I watched the entire telecast in about 90 minutes. I fast-forwarded through almost all the acceptance speeches (what was up with receiving an award in the aisle?) and songs. I skipped the lesser awards (short documentaries, etc.) and just watched the main awards. I have to recommend the 90-minute Oscar viewing, too.

It was not until the next day that I saw the repeat showing of E! Entertainment’s Red Carpet show with Star Jones. I have always kind of liked Star Jones–I’m pretty sure I’m the only woman in America who does–but why do woman who’ve lost some weight fail to realize that certain fashions are still not appropriate? As my friend, Lisa, said, “If back fat hangs over the back of the dress, put it back!” And I have to add, do not go sleeveless if your arms are jiggly.

And please, someone tell me, what has happened to Renee Zellwegger’s face? She does not even resemble the woman who played opposite Tom Cruise in “Jerry McGuire.” I can’t figure it out. Her new face scares me.

I need to get to bed, but I will be compelled to read another chapter of
Ice Bound.

By the way, my family room smells musty, but the ceiling is drying. I’m glad to hear I’m not the only one who forgets to turn off a faucet, though.

It’s Official in Wisconsin, Anyway

Posted by Hello

I was born forty years ago in Wisconsin. My brother was just sixteen months old at the time.

My mother, who was almost twenty-two when I was born, explains that my dad dropped her off at the hospital, intending to come back after he turned on the radio station where he worked at the time. When he telephoned the hospital later, he was told he had a daughter.

That’s pretty much all I know. My parents had another child sixteen months later, and I grew up as the Middle Child, and we all know what that means. None of the privileges of being the oldest, none of the coddling heaped upon the youngest. I was Mother’s Helper, eager to be useful and good and responsible, probably trying to make up for being neglected as the middle child.

I was also bald for a good portion of my toddlerhood.

And how will I celebrate my induction into middle age? Here are my exciting plans for my birthday:

8:00 a.m.: Greet DaycareKid.
8:45 a.m.: Send off YoungestBoy to school.
9:00 a.m.: Start school with boys. Spelling and music.
9:15 a.m.: Wonder why maid hasn’t arrived to scrub floor and clean bathrooms.

9:17 a.m.: Remember we have no maid.
9:45 a.m.: Take care of two month old baby for one-hour.
12:20 a.m.: Welcome YoungestBoy home from school (early dismissal).
1:00 p.m.: Leave children in care of husband and get driver’s license.
3:00 p.m.: Try to convince Babygirl to keep her clothes on.
3:30 p.m.: Get plastic surgery to fix eyelids.
4:00 p.m.: Find babysitter for Friday and Saturday nights.
4:30 p.m.: Send DaycareKid home with his mom.
5:00 p.m.: Bake pizza and eat pizza and cake for dinner.
9:00 p.m.: Inform husband I’m going to see “Sideways” with or without him.
Yes. As you can see, I’m a party animal. Maybe when I turn fifty, I’ll get fireworks.

(My grown-up birthday dinner will be Saturday night, after I get my hair cut on Saturday morning. I insisted.)

So, don your party hats! Get out your noise-maker! Blow out forty candles! Eat cake and sing out loud! Celebrate my birthday! (Just don’t tell anyone here because I’d die from embarrassment if anyone made an actual fuss in real life or if the waiters in the restaurant actually drew attention to my saggy eyelidded face.) In the meantime, if you see me (look! I finally posted a current picture below), please wish me happy birthday and slip me a twenty-dollar bill.

Posted by Hello

Signed,
The Birthday Girl

My Font

When you are preparing to host a birthday party for 10 six year olds, what do you do?

Here’s what I do:

1) Leave house at 7:30 p.m. to buy cake at Costco and pizza and Capri Sun drink pouches;
2) Head to Toys R Us for present and themed napkins and tablecloth.
3) Get home at 9:45 p.m., discovered chocolate cake has strawberry filling and wonder if ultra-picky birthday boy will notice.
4) Make cute schedule of party events, including stuff to do tonight and tomorrow morning.
5) Sweep and mop.
6) Wrap gifts. Check out Bingo game (my main party entertainment).
7) Moan about complete exhaustion.
8) Eat some of the miniature chocolate bars intended for the pinata.
9) Watch guy on news who tried to kill himself by jumping off Space Needle this afternoon. (He changed his mind.)
10) Read email, read message board, check journal for comments.
11) Wonder about font. Is this better? Worse?
12) Wonder if anyone reads this.
13) Decide remaining party preparations can wait until tomorrow and go to bed.

In twelve hours, it’ll all be over. Woo-hoo! Now, that’s something to celebrate!

Billy Baldwin and My Unicycle

I have a cold. I was so tired, but I slept so poorly. I kept peering at the clock and saw when it was 2 a.m. and 3 a.m. and 4 a.m. Sometime after 4:30 a.m., I fell asleep long enough to have the following dream:

I enter a large auditorium-like room, which is the location for a reunion of some sort. (Not my high school reunion, because in my dream I compare it to that situation.) I decide that the best thing to do is to ride a unicycle into the room, but not just any unicycle. No. This is a 30 foot tall unicycle, which brings me right up close to the popcorn-textured ceiling and deeply recessed lights.

I realize, of course, that I cannot get down, so I holler to the people on the ground that I need help. Who appears to rescue me? Billy Baldwin, of course.

I say, “Hey, aren’t you Billy Baldwin?” I am dangling with my arms locked through the recessed lighting fixture.

He grins and his eyes crinkle into upside down moons. “I sure am!”

I say, “You know what would be cool?”

“What?”

“An all-Baldwin Mole!” (As in the television show, “The Mole.” On the “Celebrity Mole”, Stephen Baldwin has been a contestant twice. My dream-self thought it would be fun to see all the Baldwin brothers compete.)

He agrees, then somehow I am lowered to the ground, where my dream ends.

Unfortunately, the dream ends because my alarm rings at 6:20 a.m. and fortified with very little sleep, I have to face a day filled with runny-nosed toddlers and laundry.

We aren’t really celebrating YoungestBoy’s birthday today, but I did make him a sweatshirt last night that says, “TODAY IS MY 6th BIRTHDAY!” I want everyone at school to be attentive and sweet to him. I’ll probably make cupcakes while he’s at school and we’ll have pizza–his favorite–tonight.

Six years ago today, I was walking around my house, having contractions. YoungestBoy wasn’t born until 11:42 p.m., after 43 hours of labor. He was born into the birthing tub, surrounded by a whole crowd of helpers. His twin brothers were sound asleep. What a blessing this boy has been.

Now, onward with my day.

I need a waaaaaambulance!

I wish I could stay in bed all day without responsibilities. Yesterday my throat began to feel scratched, literally like someone scratched the roof of my mouth in the back. During the night, I woke repeatedly and realized that I have caught the same cold the babies have. Ack! This is the major downside to taking care of a daycare baby. My own family is never as sick as other families. Last year Babygirl didn’t catch a single cold. Since DaycareKid has started coming over, she’s been sick about four times. At least.

Anyway, so I feel whiny. I don’t want to take care of runny-nosed kids. I don’t want to make dinner. I certainly don’t want to balance the checkbook.

The worst part of it is that YoungestBoy’s birthday is tomorrow and his party is on Saturday. I have to get creative and come up with some fun party activities. I need decorations, supplies, food. I found a brand-new Bingo same on sale for a dollar, so I bought it last week. At least I have one thing planned. Last year’s party was so much fun. It was Sponge-bob themed and everyone had a blast.

Here’s YoungestBoy last year:

But, this too, shall pass. I will be healthy again, someday. The party will come and go. YoungestBoy will only be five for one more day.

Oh wait. It really is too much to bear. My baby boy cannot grow up. Waaaaaaaaaah!