Oh that hilarious Outlaw Mama with her tips for attending birthday parties. Isn’t she clever! Isn’t she witty! If she’s so damn “on it”, then where’s her Monday post?
Well that’s a good question. And speaking of questions, here are the questions I found myself perseverating over this fine Monday morning, on the back end of hosting a party for Sadie’s third birthday. At my house. With 187 children under 5 years old. (It’s my damn blog so I can exaggerate if I want. And I want. But even if I told you the truth– that there were only approximately 3 kids there– it was still an unholy mess and a bad, bad idea. I blame Pinterest.)
Let’s start with the basic questions:
Why did we host the party ourselves?
Why did we have a make-your-own-pizza party for three year olds?
Why did we do it in our house?
And why in the name of sweet sun tea did we include the decorate-your-own-cupcake station?
Who the hell is going to clean up my kitchen floor?
Why did we make 144 cupcakes for 35 people?
Why did I eat half the leftovers?
The more profound questions:
When I found a piece of pizza covered, not in delicious Costco pizza sauce, but red frosting, why did I eat it?
Why did I look around for more frosting-covered pizza?
Would I have eaten more if I had found it?
Why are you asking yourself such stupid questions, when you know you would have eaten it?
Why did I lick chocolate sprinkles off the kitchen table in front of Sadie, who now thinks licking the table is just part of what we do? (Like peeing in the kitchen sink when someone locks herself in the bathroom)
Why did I let Simon have cupcakes for dinner last night? With green frosting?
And how can I be sure someone else changes his diaper for the next 72 hours?
Questions of an even deeper nature:
Why didn’t I get a more protein-centric breakfast?
Why did I fuck up my kids naps before the pizza-cupcake disaster of 2012?
How come we didn’t take any pictures of me on the one day this summer my hair looked amazing? (Think Katie Couric in the late 90s.)
Why do I think I have any business trying shit I saw pinned on Pinterest? (Note to self: if you think those pins of women doing impossible Pilates poses are impossible, remember the party pins are worse. Way worse. Refer self to this post.)
Why did I ever join Pinterest?
Why didn’t I listen to friends who loved me when they said “Don’t do it at your house! Too much work.”
Will they forgive me for calling them lazy bitches and making fun of their “commercial” birthday parties?
Will Jeff forgive me for putting soda cans still approximately 75% full in a leaking plastic bag?
Will he forgive me for lying, when I swore I emptied out the soda cans before putting them in a bag I allegedly didn’t know was leaking?
Will you forgive me for being too bloated and fogged up in a Pinterest-shame haze to write a glowing review of the party?
* * *
Do you have any questions for me? (Like, “where are the pictures? Party sounds a-maz-ing, Outlaw Mama!” You know where the pictures are? They are seared in my memory threatening to stalk me for the rest of my life, which is why there are no actual shots because I am busy researching PTSD facilities in the greater Chicago area.)
Thanks for asking.