I have come to the conclusion that I am a sad, sad woman.
My kids’ birthday parties are getting out of hand. I have two parties within the two weeks and the guest list alone is enough to send any mother into an anxiety attack. I always do this. I make up my guest list of my friends and The Boy’s friends (generally the same list) and send out the invites. Then I spend the next two weeks adding people to the list because I think it would be nice to see them, or it would be nice to get to know them better. Then the annual descent into crazy begins. So far this year I have:
-hand made the invitation s (see photo)
-hand decorated the loot bags
-ordered Hot Wheels junk on e-bay that probably won’t even get here on time
-arranged for Elmo to attend The Baby’s Elmo party (cleverly disguised as The Boy in an Elmo costume)
-invited nearly thirty children between the two parties (9 days apart)
At least, I have, at last, discovered justification for my madness. I am a frustrated Martha Stewart. I make no claim to her level of skill but I love to entertain. There were always parties at my parent’s house growing up and when I moved out on my own I did it too, though not to the same extent as my mother. Kids have changed that. We don’t have parties any more. We’re simply too tired. Even on the rare occasion that The Husband and I agree it would be fun, the party never actually materializes.
It’s sad but true, the birthday parties have become my only outlet for entertaining. A year’s worth of pent up hostessing bursts forth into one annual orgy of birthday parties. It’s crazy, it’s fun, it’s exhausting… but I’ll never learn.