There are eight 5-year-olds coming to my house tomorrow, for a craft, lots of free play, pogos & fries (and hopefully a vegetable) cake and a pinata.
What the hell was I thinking?
Well, for one thing, I was thinking that there would be a few kids who couldn’t make it. (Nope, we’re 8 for 8!)
For another, I sent the invitations out before the worst of the H1N1 hysteria set in. Now I’m petrified of every germy little kid who is going to cross my threshold to play with and touch everything we own.
Oh, and I also thought that at least some of the parents would opt to stay with their kids, you know, with us being virtual STRANGERS and all. But everyone seems perfectly happy to drop the little darlings off and enjoy two hours of free time.
So its me and G and 10 kids under 7. Hot day-um, I’m an idiot.
But tomorrow, when the last loot-bag has been given and the last silken-haired little sweetheart has hugged both my children and headed back into the waiting car of her mother, I am pretty sure that T will look at me with the widest, most beautiful blue eyes that I’ve ever seen, and she will thank me for her first-ever birthday party.
And she will hug me. And I’ll hold this baby-about-to-be-five in my arms and I will be so glad that we put ourselves through the trouble for her.
And then I’ll go pour myself a big glass of wine. At 2 in the afternoon.