It is a miracle our children are making it through childhood. Have I mentioned that before? This shouldn't be a job you plan "on a wing and a prayer", but if the title of this blog was misleading, it should be clear by now that there is no manual for raising children. Let me demonstrate:
Today is Saturday and it is the season of birthdays. If there was a time when your weekends meant late nights drinking and even later morning recoveries, it will end with a preschooler whose social world revolves around play-dates, the making and breaking of best friends and the themed-birthday party. This morning went well by Thomas family standards. The birthday wasn't until 12:30pm, giving us ample time to get ready and therefore arrive no later than 20 minutes late. That's good for me. Just ask Bryan. Now, I have learned there are a few critical things that must be addressed before the day can function properly. Like her Daddy, Addison must be fed before any happiness will be considered for display. Noah will be lost to the crowd and the social whirlwind of the moment until he has need of money for games at which time his sense of smell brings him back to my purse. MacKenzie will push and wiggle to get down so that she can pick up any residual food off the ground and put it in her mouth. All of this has to happen within 3-5 minutes of our arrival anywhere before all hell breaks loose.
As we enter the bowling alley, today's birthday party location, the clock starts ticking and the countdown begins. I immediately scan the nearest tables for food in anticipation of Addie's larger-than-life appetite. So far tables look empty, but before I can panic, Noah has already made his rounds and found his way back to my wallet in search of quarters. As I wrestle to find him change, which is not forthcoming, MacKenzie has spotted a delectable treasure trove of discarded pretzels under the nearest booth and is kicking to be released. Distracted by thoughts of changing $1 bills into quarters for Noah's game addiction, I thoughtlessly put the squirming child down to dig further into my purse. Addie is pulling on my leg and repeating the words "eat, mommy, eat." I can hear the second hand on the clock closing in on 4 minutes and I know my time is coming to an end. Just as I find the one dollar bill I'd tucked into the side pocket of my purse, I hear someone say "Oh, sweetie, you don't want to eat that. It's filthy. Where's your Mommy?" and I catch a sweeping glance of Addie reaching up to the tiered cupcake platter in hopes of scoring something bigger than the chips and salsa I'd have gotten her instead. It is at this moment I realize my window of opportunity has past, my five minutes is up and chaos is at hand. Any thoughts of preventative measures have been replaced by thoughts of damage control. I spring into action grabbing Addie's hand from the cupcake she's touched but hasn't yet mauled, pick Kenz up of the floor with a muddled apology for stealing pretzels that don't belong to her and slap the dollar bill into Noah's hand while steering him in the direction of the change machine.
I would like to say that those birthday performances are limited to one per party, but I did later see the bowling lane attendant carry my two girls off one of the bowling lanes after Addie followed a slow moving ball down one of the lanes towards the pins and Kenz toddled after her clapping her approval the whole way. Where was I, you might ask? I was eating my children's left-over pizza, counting to five and hoping the bowling attendant found some other parent to chastise for letting their children loose in a place with heavy balls and slippery floors.
How long is Birthday season?
