File It Under "W" for "What the Heck Was I Thinking"

I made attempts to blog this morning, but kept losing my blogger connection. Blog it all anyway.

My youngest daughter has attended many birthday parties, most of them at gyms and bouncetown-type places.

I wanted to have a birthday party at home, an old-fashioned party. I thought this was a good idea. Mwahahahahahahahaha.

The high-pitched squeals began as soon as the guests arrived. A small tribe of children was running around the house like the kindergarteners in "Reecess."

I had a painting project for them. They painted paper mache boxes to take home. I had stickers for them to put on the boxes when they dried. When the time came to finish the boxes, they were totally uninterested.

There were a few normal kid things I had to deal with.

Everybody got three swings at the pinata. There were arguments about who was where in line and who got more swings. There were also arguments about who got more candy. I gave them more candy in the house. Some kids were still shy so I made the others ante up.

SJ has a mini trampoline. There were fights about that. I began setting the oven timer for two minute intervals. When the two minutes were up, it was the next person's turn.

Rachel and Anabella fought over who got to help open presents. I made them take turns.

At the end of the party, they were fighting over the pinata rope. I cut it into pieces so everybody could have some. The rope was the hit of the party. It was like when you buy your kid a gift and they play with the box.

At one point, they all went in my daughter's room to watch a movie. I heard arguing. I told my oldest daughter to go in and take care of it. She has learned fine parenting skills from me. Telling your kid to "quit yer damn whining or I'll smack you upside the head" is fine parenting, right?

My worst moment was that Christopher, who is allergic to peanuts, found a candy in the house that wasn't in the pinata. It was a chocolate egg with a gummy dinosaur inside. I let him have it without thinking. (after I had been so careful with the cake and ice cream and pinata candy.)

He came around the corner asking, "Did this have peanuts in it?"

"Why are you sick?" I asked.

"No," he said.

I checked the package. There were no peanuts in it, but it had been manufactured on an assembly line that processed peanuts.

"You don't need to call my Mom," he said.

Of course I didn't need to call his Mom. I needed to wait until he went into anaphylactic shock and then call his Mom.

I gave her a call and explained what happened.

She asked if he had red spots on his face and he didn't.

She told me that he ate regular M&M's all the time and that he wasn't THAT sensitive to peanuts.

I got off the phone and changed my underwear.

If my oldest daughter, her boyfriend and another of her friends hadn't helped, I never would have made it through.

I also learned that a bag of candy and a painted box are no substitute for a goody bag.

As Christopher was leaving, he asked, "Where's the goody bag?"

I said, "Well I sent bags of candy and I thought you would enjoy your own painted box instead of a goody bag."

"But what about the goody bag with toys in it?" he said. I gave him some frog stickers, some sports-style beads that were for the boxes and a few Cuban cigars and sent him on his way.

The rewarding thing about the party was getting to know a bit more about my daughter's classmates.

Would I do it again soon? Hell, no!

Not only was I ready for bed at seven, but my house looked like the aftermath of a frat party, only with empty punch cups instead of beer cans.

Next time, Bouncetown!