Great moments in parenting – the birthday party fail edition

I thought I had it all under control. Clearly, I did not.

Poor Lucas, poster boy for the third child, has reached the ripe old age of five and has never had a birthday party. Knowing this, we started making plans to ensure he actually got one this year in December, even though his birthday is February 8. A good six weeks in advance, we called and booked a party room and worked out a guest list. It was a lock.

Last Friday I was supposed to get the invitations, but I forgot them on my desk at work. Annoyed with myself, I figured two weeks less two days would still be plenty of notice. That Monday afternoon I sat down and wrote out all the invitations, confirmed the guest list with Lucas and stuffed them into his backpack to be distributed the next day at school. That’s when I found the invitation FOR Lucas, from a classmate.

For the same day.

For the same place.

For the very next time slot.

Yeah. Four straight hours of birthday party might be a little much for your average four year old to bear, don’t you think?

Luckily, I recognized the RSVP name as a mom who is also on the school council with me. I felt comfortable enough to call her and cross-check against her invitee list against mine, hoping there wouldn’t be too much duplication. The girls were no problem, he hadn’t wanted to invite any girls (Lucas takes after Simon in this regard; his bestie is a girl) but he had invited every boy in the class. Heartbroken for Lucas, I called to reschedule the party and the soonest time slot I could get was 10 days after his birthday. So much for planning.

Really, that was nothing more than circumstance and bad luck (although I can’t help castigating myself for not getting those invites out earlier!!) but I really can’t blame anyone but myself for what happened with Simon’s party.

Knowing the boys were desperate for their own handheld devices, we gave Tristan and Simon a choice this year – a big party and a little gift or a little party and an iPod Touch. Neither one hesitated to choose the iPod, of course. So we told them they could have three or four friends over in lieu of a party, and we’d have an extended sort of play date with cupcakes and birthday presents. (And then I scored the iPods at half off during a refurb sale after Christmas. Win-win!!)

So I picked up some invitations and wrote out three five (I am such a softie) and Simon sent them off to his friends last week. It was only earlier this week that I realized what I had done, or more specifically what I had NOT done. I hadn’t made a note, mental or otherwise, of what time we had put on the invitations.

“Um, Simon?”

“Yes Mommy?”

“Do you remember what time we put on the invitations for the party on Saturday?”

“Um, no?”

Rats.

I mean, it wasn’t a big deal. We would be home anyway. I was pretty sure I’d said 1:00, or maybe it was 1:30. It might have been 2:00. Probably not as late as 3:00, right? Hmmm. The only challenge would be coordinating the arrival of the grandparents, who wanted to appear in time for cupcakes but not endure two hours of a houseful of kids hepped up on birthday energy. I figured I’d just call them when kids started showing up and tell them to show up in an hour.

But, it was bugging me, so I casually approached one of the moms today at school pick-up.

“Hey, how are ya? Warm out today, eh?” I said, and we chatted briefly about the unseasonable warmth. “So, I um, have a kind of a favour to ask. Do you, um, happen to remember what time I put on the invitation for Simon’s party?” She thought it was hilarious and confirmed that it was, in fact, for 1:30.

I thought THAT was one of my finer parenting moments, until the phone rang earlier this evening.

Ring ring.

Me: “Hello?”

Child’s voice: “Um, hi. Is this Simon’s mom?”

Me: “Yep, that’s me! Did you want to talk to Simon?”

Child: “Um, actually, no. I was calling to talk to you.”

Me, mildly surprised: “Oh, okay then. What’s up?”

Child: “Well, Simon said you forgot what time the party is, and we thought that it might be important that you know, you know? So I checked the invitation, and it says 1:30. Just so, you know, you, um, know. Okay?”

Me, dying: “That is very considerate of you sir. We will look forward to seeing you on Saturday.”

One of my finer moments indeed.

Moral of the story: do not, under any circumstances, hire me as a party planner.

Now appearing on Today’sParent.com

When I started this blog a million years ago, one of the dreams I held was that I might some day have my writing published in a major glossy magazine. My storytelling focus has wandered from my keyboard to my camera over the years, but I have never lost my love of telling a good anecdote. And now, I am super-proud to be able to share this: my first publishing credit on TodaysParent.com!

Click on over and enjoy my contribution to their new feature: Melt-Your-Heart Moments. I wrote about that most amazing parenting moment: watching your child’s first dance recital, first choir concert, or first halting acting performance as the third tree to the left in the school Christmas pageant.

Very timely, too (I love it when the universe is synchronific!) because just today my heart melted into a pile of proud goo at the school talent show where not one but TWO boys took to the stage. Simon and his buddies brought the house down with their dance routine to LMFAO’s Party Rock Anthem (there are not words nor photos that could do it justice), and Tristan finished off his first year of guitar lessons with a solo on stage.

talent show 2012

Could I be any prouder? I think this is as good as it gets.

The wisdom of Simon

Simon and I in the car, chatting amiably as we drive back from buying new school shoes for Simon, when a propos of nothing he says, “You know, you’re really lucky to have such a smart dad.”

The non-sequitor throws me for a loop and I’m quiet for a minute, wondering where this is coming from and where it might be going. “Um, yes,” I say eventually. Then, “How so?”

“I like how he knows so much stuff. He tells me all sorts of facts that I didn’t know about.” I chuckle to myself. My dad does like teaching the boys things.

Simon is continuing. “Once, when I was playing video games, he was telling me about when he was a kid and there were no video games, and what the first video games were like.” I’m delighted Simon is receptive to him. Not every eight year old boy is interested in hearing about the old days, back in the 1980s. Even so, I try to interject, telling him there were no video games when *I* was a kid, either, but Simon is more interested in Papa Lou’s perspective than mine. “It’s cool being old. I can’t wait until I’m old and I know so much stuff, too, and I can tell my grandkids all about it.”

And, my darling, perceptive, sensitive Simon, I hope they show the same sweet appreciation that you do. Thanks for making me smile.

4022

Four-thousand and twenty-two. It’s Simon’s magic number, a quantity that delineates anything between a lot and infinity. As in, “Is my time out done yet? Because I’ve been here for 4022 minutes.” Or, “When I grow up, I’m going to have 4022 webkinz.” Or, “Do I have to eat another pea? I already ate 4022 of them.” I have no idea where this particular number got its significance, but it’s entirely of his own creation.

And, it just happens to be within a couple dozen of the number of unread posts in my bloglines account. Four thousand unread posts calling to me: “Read me! There are funny stories and anecdotes to be read, memes to be filched, wry observations to be appreciated, photos to be admired. Read me, read me, read me!” Sigh. I’ll never catch up. Sorry I haven’t been a good bloggy friend lately. Maybe next week when the boys are in day camp for the week, I’ll catch up. But, probably not. I got up at 5:30 this morning, thinking I’d catch up before everybody else woke up. I did spend more than an hour on the computer, after I savoured the newspaper and a hot coffee, but I still didn’t make it any deeper than the backlog on three or four of my very favourites.

It doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of you guys, though!

I swear that’s not what his birth certificate says

I’m feeding Lucas and Tristan is in the kitchen colouring, out of sight but not earshot around the corner. Simon is engaged in some sort of imaginary play that involves a lot of talking. I can hear him stumbling over an idea.

Simon: Mommy!

Me: Yes, Simon?

Simon: What’s my second name?

Me: Francis.

Simon: No, my other second name.

I tell him his hyphenated surname. The boys get the order of their names confused, and Tristan will often say his first name, his surname and then his middle name.

Simon, obviously frustrated: No, no, my other name.

I’m still puzzling this one out when Tristan calls from the kitchen. “You mean numbskull?”

Simon, pleased: Yeah, numbskull. Thanks, Tristan!

And off he goes to play.

I swear, it wasn’t me. I have no idea where he got this one from (looks pointedly at Beloved) but I can honestly say this one wasn’t my doing…