I love a well-executed Children’s Birthday Party.
The twins turned eight a few days ago (“I forget what eight was for…”) so we were overwhelmed all weekend with birthday festivities. Birthdays do not wait for swollen balls, I’m afraid. Husband, Stephanie (anxious to pay back my bathing suited carcass outing a few weeks back at her daughter’s birthday party) and I herded fifteen eight year olds on foot to The Pin-up Bowl in The Loop. No walking or bowling mishaps at all. The girls were sort of a$$holes to each other, but I understand this is simply a preview of coming attractions to the teen years. Husband a total trooper all weekend and has been heralded a hero by several of my girlfriends who report their own husbands have been unwilling to put their balls into anyone else’s hands for an hour. And it’s so cool because now I have a weapon I didn’t know I needed. I now have the threat of “I’ll blog about your balls again!” in my arsenal. It’s not every girls’s husband that will be a good sport about me blogging about his balls.
This year’s birthday party was less traumatic than last year’s party, when the twins turned Seven for All Mankind. Daughter Blair was totally into Michael Jackson at the time so we played Pin the nose, glitter glove or black hat on M.J. The kids didn’t understand the hilarity of three different types of noses I provided, but it was more about my amusement than anyone else’s anyway. We had to break up two fights between feuding first graders. I put three kids in time-out at one point during the party. Another kid was sleepy and demanded a nap so we let him slumber upstairs for a bit. One of the girls was terrified of candles so she stayed in the living room when the candle blowing commenced. The little punks snapped the electrical cord clean off one of my lamps. And NONE of those kids was mine! See! They are ALL insane!