The Perfect Party

        

      Opening the latest issue of Amazing and Selfless Mom Monthly, I found a glossy spread of the "average" mom hosting an amazing (and sure to be legendary) halloween party for her beautiful and happy child. The gorgeous mom was smiling her unnaturally white toothed smile (she doesn't drink coffee or soda-she is never tired!) and stopping for the camera to take a picture with some of the little whippersnappers at the spooky, yet whimisically decorated table. The meal was healthy, organic food that Mom just whipped up in between working, going to the gym (taking time out for yourself is important, you know), and having date night with daddy. The little angels couldn't get enough of it! Cute little vegetable kabobs that were shaped like witch fingers, organic chicken tenders with monster blood ketchup, whole-wheat miniature pizzas that looked like mummies, cupcakes with the most perfect fondant icing draped just so, creating a "ghost" of a treat! How clever! How creative!



      The kids moved outside to games where everyone was a smiling winner.  Ribbons and prizes for all! What fun we are having!

      Where does she find the time? The energy? She is beyond amazing! If only I could be like her. I would be a real life Jones and everyone would be keeping up with me! But wait...I can! I can be her! I can create the most wonderful and memory filled party for my son that has ever been!

And so the Halloween party planning began with gusto. Every possible site out there that exists was saved into my favorites folder, a list of over-the-top games, creative and original decorations were laid out in blueprint form, and menu planning was begun. I relished the challenge and couldn't wait to prove to the other moms just how much I was like them!

Fast forward to the party-

Creative Food: Still complained about and hardly eaten. Pain in my ASS to prepare. Who knew it took more hours to plan and cook this little shindig than a wedding for 300 people? Purple icing wasn't as good as the green, can I have a different one? My chicken fingers don't look like a finger, you didn't do it right. I don't like this ketchup, do you have a different kind? My mom says that I need to eat some vegetables, I will make sure to tell her that you didn't offer any (I offered ketchup. Beggars can't be choosers, you little snot.) Why are you serving pizza that you made? Can't you just buy some?  This stuf is gross. The list is endless.

Decorations: Kids couldn't give two poops about it and the parents were so happy to drop their kid off at the insane lady's house hosting the party, that they didn't even look at my perfectly realistic spiderwebs and mummies propped in the corner. They basically all slowed down at the curb, tossed their little Obi-Wan-Kenobes and Fairies out of the car, and took off like a bat out of hell. Now I understand more and judge less.

Games: I planned enough games to last over 3 hours. Figuring that we were having a 2 and a half hour party that would include goody bags and lunch, this was plenty.

Rest assured, it was not. It was however, long enough to have children crying because they didn't win (really, just my son was, but I am pretending he wasn't the only one), running around the yard like maniacs on meth, not listening to most of the rules I carefully explained (there is a reason I don't choose to teach 1st graders) and all around making a mess of my house, yard, and mental state. By the time the parents returned, we were playing Whoever-stays-quiet-the-longest-gets-candy and I was cursing every single person that was more than ten seconds late in picking up their rugrat. I could see it in their eyes, what they were thinking. Some of them had a twinkle that said "I told you that this was crazy!", others looked at my frosting-crusted hair (food fight) and haggard face and gave me a look of pity that I still get from them in the school hallways. My poor husband was roped into it and couldn't run fast enough to the fridge to grab a beer after the twerps left.

But did my son have fun? Yep. Did the kids get to dress up and play outside on an unseasonable warm October day? Yep. Did I have fun doing it? Yep. Will I do it next year?

Nope.

Ish Happens

I have thought about writing a blog for a long time, but I am not sure why. I am not a writer, ask any of my friends. In college, I copied previously written papers from my dear friend and still managed to barely pass the class (she, I am sure, received an 'A'). I found out soon after graduation from high school that my english teacher used one of my papers as an example on what not to do- so considerate that he left my name on the paper! Hippy jerk.  There is no reason for me to write- I have a friend who is a writer-a brilliant one at that- so why should I expose myself as a less than stellar writer in the same circle of friends?

Because I am self-ish. Not selfish, self-ish. Notice the hyphen. Similar to the fact that I am fat-ish, poor-ish, and pretty-ish. I am not completely any of these things, but I am not completly not one of these things, either.

See what I mean? Read that last sentence and then tell me I am a writer. What the hell?

Self-ish. I am a mom of 2 young boys so it really doesn't work out that I can be selfish most of the time and this is how I became self-ish and fat-ish. Because I don't have time to induldge myself to the fullest extent that I feel I deserve (which is an exorbitant amount, I am sure), when I do have time, I eat. Yum!Yum!Yum! I got a meal to myself that didn't involve whining about the weird looking food on the plate or food being throw on the floor in protest (or joy, it is hard to tell with my 2 year old). I can eat junk food without feeling guilty about feeding my kids food that is fueling them with fat, salt, and weird random animal parts. Being self-ish and fat-ish has led to us being poor-ish. Food costs money and good food can be expensive, so I get cheap-ish food. Not top of the line quality, but not scraping the barrel, either. Lots of  Cheap-ish meals adds up to poor-ish. And fat-ish. Fat-ish leads to pretty-ish.

To recap: Self-ish, fat-ish, poor-ish mom needs therapy to improve the mess she has gotten herself into. Therapy costs too much so here I am.

So what is my point? Not sure. I guess I am just full of -ish.