But it's not my birthday. It's almost Little Dude's. I know you can hardly disappoint a one-year old. As long as there are piles of tissue paper and someone sticks their head from around a corner to shout "boo!" periodically, he'll be happier than a piglet in crap. But I can disappoint all 34 of my Pinterest followers by not posting photos of beautiful plans and ideas for his upcoming party. I can disappoint Facebook by not reveling in the joy and beauty of handcrafting decorations myself, and by serving bowls of pre-made and, gasp, store-bought snacks and treats. "Somebody quick, call Child Services, she served brownie bites she bought at Costco!"
Okay fine, my friends couldn't give two licks about that. They will comment and like photos of my baby smiling and laughing and pounding a cupcake with his fist, then smearing frosting across his cheeks like war paint. Let's call a spade a spade: our kids don't care about these details whether they're turning two or 10. As long as there is candy, cake and friends, they're thrilled. We do this for ourselves. We do this to ourselves
I was up all night (I did sleep for 30 minutes before jumping out of bed like I'd been shot when the alarm went off) putting finishing touches on the party we had for Shooter's third birthday last fall because I wanted everything to be perfect. And yet there were still things I was disappointed with that just didn't look as nice as the plans I'd had in my head. She didn't care. In fact, all I wish now, is that on the morning of her party, I had enjoyed watching her laugh and shriek as she bounced on a giant trampoline instead of organizing a table of food that would soon be decimated by a crowd of hungry preschoolers.
I am not even remotely artistic. I am good at swirling yummy frosting onto cupcakes. And if someone needs me to run those cupcakes from point A to point B in roughly a six-minute kilometer, I'm your mom. But it ends there. Fortunately I have help this week from people far more talented than me. So my boy will have some
And if all goes well, I won't be up until 5 a.m. faking it and Child Services won't come knocking on my door. Not that day anyway.