It's His Party, I'll Cry If I Want To

My angst regarding my tiny devil's birthday party has been partially resolved. The venue has been set, the treats have been bought, and the weather has been checked.

The weathermen better be freakin' right, or I'll sue someone. Little kids' birthday parties are not things that should be messed with. Or rather, moms giving little kids' birthday parties are not things that should be messed with. Because they're tense.

I didn't buy candy. Because I don't ever buy candy. Because when I buy candy for children, somehow it ends up going straight to my hips. And thighs. And abdomen. Self control is not an issue, I swear. E doesn't eat candy anyway, so he won't miss it.

Instead, I bought toys. Those little 88 cent toys they sell at Wally World that are freaking amazing for like one hour. And then they break. But for that one hour, they seem better than all of those expensive toys your kid just had to have for Christmas last year, lest he/she be ostracized from Gymboree. Because you know that those toys only get really appreciated for approximately the same amount of time, and then they end up on the shelf with Ticklish Elmo and the Birthday edition of Barb-idiot. You know it.

Toys don't cause cavities. Keep that in mind.

I ordered a freakin' birthday cake with pirates on it. It was amazing. The things I do for that kid: "Whipped or butter cream?" (I don't freaking know! Which one tastes better?) "What size?" (Why don't you tell me, you're the one who sells these things to desperate moms all day!) "What flavor?" (Um, what flavor do you think I should get?) "What time do you want to pick it up?" (Good Lord, there are too many choices, just give me the mother-lovin' cake, already!) Plus, the poor girl got caught right as she was finishing up her shift (or so I tell myself, because otherwise she was just being rude, and I'd rather not think the worst of people who work in bakeries, because they work with my food). Wow, there are a lot of parentheses in that paragraph. Time for a new one.

Now I'm just afraid that I'll forget something vital tomorrow. Like an ice cream scoop or one of the bajillion swords hanging out at my apartment/my parents' house. You know, those things that are just essential for uber-little kid fun.