This week was a very crazy week. My husband, who we have enjoyed having home every evening during the summer, started grad school classes again this week. He goes straight from work to class those days and doesn’t get home until the kids are in bed.
My daughters went through some serious withdrawals this week in his absence: bickering, tantrums, and irrational DRAMA.
I wasn’t in much better shape. I was scrambling to get all the shopping, prep work, and cleaning done in time for this:
My oldest loves to pretend to be a dog, so the theme for this birthday was a no-brainer.
This is the second friend party we’ve ever done. I wish I could say I get as excited for the party as my daughter does. I wish I could say I don’t deal with a certain amount of anxiety over having everything ready to keep a group of sugar-charged, excited little girls happy and entertained. But I can’t. I stress over birthday parties.
So all week long, I was dragging the girls on errands, which inevitably turned into another errand and another and another. I was stressing over every penny I spent because we quite literally needed to throw this birthday party on a dime, and it just wasn’t turning out that way.
Top that off with the fact that my 2yr old seems to be giving up on naps, but I’m still in denial and keep trying to get her to nap. If I have to admit she’s officially done, I’ll be heartbroken.
On the last night before the party, while my husband was working late (yet another night that he would get home after the kids were in bed), I still had so much to do. It seemed like everything was working against me. I still had cleaning and baking and crafting that needed done. I was forced to go to the store one last time for a few food items for the party. When we got home, I took a loaf of bread out of the grocery bag so it wouldn’t get smashed by the other groceries. I set it on the nearest surface when I walked in the door, my entertainment center. When I put the other groceries away, I forgot about the bread. A few minutes later, I look up to see my 2yr old wrestling with the bread bag to get it open, and as if in slow motion, her bottom plopped right down on the entire loaf. I had a loaf of completely misshapen bread, and there was no way I was going back to the store with all the things I had to get done.
I fell apart at that point and went in my room for a little cry. I’m a crier. I do that. Often.
I don’t blog about it now for sympathy because the further in time I get away from the event, the more I can see its comic value. I want to record this so I can really chuckle over it when I remember it a year from now. But wait, there’s more! The fun didn’t stop there. Life is always an adventure when you’re a mother.
Later, when I finally had the cupcakes in the oven, I sat down to change my 2yr-old’s stinky diaper. I realized her bottom was looking sore, and I was going to have to go to the other room to get some diaper cream. The oven started to beep; the cupcakes were done. I had taken off the dirty diaper and cleaned her off, but I didn’t want to put on the new diaper until I put on the diaper cream. I told her very sternly that she should stay there, don’t move. She agreed to comply (hey, don’t judge, this has actually worked in the past). I ran to get the cream and ran back only to find that she had not kept her promise. She was sitting on the family room couch, peeing on the cushion just as I came in the room. I yanked her off the couch, administered the cream, put on her diaper, washed my hands, and got the cupcakes out of the oven before they burned. Then I had a mess to clean up on the couch.
Funny thing is, the next morning, my husband got up with the kids while I slept just a few extra minutes before getting up to get things ready for the party. He forgot to change the little one’s diaper when he first got her up, so her diaper leaked as she sat on the couch. This puddle was on the other couch cushion, so at least they are even now. She has claimed both sides of the couch as her territory.
But it’s all over now. The party went quite well. I had help from my hubby and his mother, without which, this post might have a different title. Maybe something like “The Great Birthday Party Debacle?” All the kids seemed to have fun. No one got hurt or had a crying fit (not even me). My house wasn’t torn apart, and I think we made some fun memories. Most of all, I think my daughter really enjoyed it, which is the one thing that makes it all worthwhile for me. I’ve spent the rest of my weekend relaxing and soaking up every bit of comfort I get from actually having my husband here and watching the girls enjoy him, too.
As soon as I can sort through the hundreds of pictures we took, I’ll try to share the party details. I hope you all have had a wonderful weekend.
Thanks for stopping by!