Saturday, December 18, 2010
A favorite pastime in my house is "For My Birthday."
It's a really annoying game that goes something like this: "For my birthday, I want to go to Golf n' Stuff!" "For my birthday, I want a crayon box cake!" "For my birthday, I want a bowling party!"
This game is even worse than Monopoly. And, I really don't like Monopoly.
My biggest hang-up is that it starts immediately after a birthday, so for months you listen to these different demands. Things change on a weekly, daily, even hourly basis. It's positively dizzying to try and keep up with all the party planning.
Well, Middle Child's birthday party is up. You can imagine how "For my Birthday" has hit a fevered pitch. The guest list has been particularly trying since her Third Grade Shit List is under constant revision.
Awhile back, though, she was thumbing through a kids' cake book and pointed out what she wanted — poofy-skirted, individual Barbies. The skirt was made of cake and a plastic Barbie, her modesty protected by sugary frosting, topped the whole thing off. I'll bet Hugh Hefner had them at his last party.
Well, I remembered this little tidbit — and how my own mom had made these fanciful ladies for one of my birthdays — and so I rounded up Barbie picks from two different stores, uncovered icing bags and tips, all that good stuff. Then Middle Child says — just a few days ago — that she wants a Hannah Montana cake.
She had forgotten about the Barbies.
Well, not me. I pointed out the picture, and told her she wanted them — badly.
If I weren't so exhausted, I'd set them all up and take a picture of the whole bunch. It makes for a much more impressive (and creepy) photo. But, I'm tired. Obviously crazy, too.
Well, my sanity may not be intact, but my memory is. I remember how glorious birthday parties were back when I was a kid, when you laughed with your mouth full of frosting and proudly wore Kool-Aid mustaches and you never, ever worried about what all that cake and ice cream was going to do to your butt.