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!
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.

