I have been dreading the approach of the girls' birthdays for some time. Not so much because they are getting older, but because this year they were getting a joint party, and we know that means a lot of work. Thankfully, most of the mini-guests were siblings in one of the girls' classrooms, which contained the numbers on the obligatory set of parents that come when you celebrate small kids' birthdays. Being an obligatory parent myself, I also should say that the parents who came are friends, so that was a nice bonus.
Anyway, this is not so much about the feast itself (I'll do another one on that), but about the lessons learned. Somebody said that life isn't a destination so much as a journey, so let me tell you about the journey. And let me convince you to trust your instincts from time to time, unless you like to learn the hard way.
At the risk of having this turn into the 5th grade composition paper, let me start this way:
What I learned this weekend:
(a) If the weather report says it's going to rain only in the morning, it's wrong.
And if you think it will, somehow, work out, then you are wrong. As I planned the girls' party for a Saturday in September, the last thing in my mind was the possibility of rain. I mean, this is So. California last time I checked, and last time I checked it NEVER rains in September. Enter Global Warming, Climate Change, or whatever it's called these days, and I guess anything is possible. We were hit by a storm front coming in from Alaska, and by the looks of it, the storm just didn't move quickly enough, because the downpour came on Friday night and lasted through the early afternoon on Saturday. It didn't rain quite enough to flood us, and the thunderstorms never materialized, but it rained enough for us to judge it better to move the party indoors.
(b) You can fit a whole bunch of people and a swarm of screaming little girls in a small space and survive to tell the story.
Our discussion when considering plan B (indoor party in our small house v. outdoor party in the picnic area of our beautiful park, playground included) was quite the tug-o-war. Since plan B hadn't become a necessity until the last minute, we finally stopped arguing about an alternate venue and agreed that the house would be party central in the unlikely event of rain. Unlikely having become likely, we routed everyone to our 1667 sq. ft. home. Take out the master bedroom, the office, and wasted spaces, and it's not so much space anymore. Add in a troupe of screaming five year-old girls, a couple of toddlers, two unsuspecting little boys, and voilá: if you are not ready to have a drink, you will be by the end of the night. We adults ended up knowing each other better due to the close proximity, but everyone seemed to be happy and there was plenty of food. And since the house isn't palatial, then the parents didn't have to run around to keep an eye on their kids. My closet became the hideout at some point, and Katarina ended up with orange juice on her hair, after Larissa and her BFF Isabelle decided it'd be fun to pour it on her. My carpet ended up soaked in the same juice as well, so Jim had to clean the carpet he'd cleaned that morning. And we lived to tell the story, after having a few drinks.
(c) If you think that children should not play with bubbles unsupervised, you're most definitely right
I can't stress this one enough. Maybe it's common sense, but again, remember the small house? Well, once it stopped raining for sure, a few kids spilled out to the patio/yard area, where I rediscovered the bubbles intended for their use. My strategy at this point was to keep them entertained and out of trouble in the patio, while we adults had a bit of a reprieve and time to recharge our worn-out parenting batteries. It didn't take long for me to see the error of my ways. Larissa and her BFF Isabelle (see an emerging them here?) had decided to pour the bubbles on the sodas and one of the toy cars outside. The sodas became the cleanest sodas in the neighborhood, and ditto for the car. And for the driver. Yes... the car had a driver, which made my godson Noah the victim of female mischief, as he became the recipient of their soapy liquid.
(d) Last but not least, I have learned that little girls are skilled at scheming. I have learned that I shouldn't trust them when they are quiet (well, I learned that one long ago). I have learned that watching my kids play with their friends in this early stage is one of the sweetest memories of all.
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