816. How To Stress Over A Summer Party

As the woman who inconsiderately gave birth to him in July, thus relegating him forever to the corner of the classroom reserved for the “Summer Birthdays” (i.e. the ones not celebrated at school), I was determined to give Short a birthday to remember this year. 

I started researching my options in January.    

“Look,” I said to The Husband excitedly as I pointed to the computer screen one evening, “we can rent a small farm for only $8000!” 

He laughed, not at the idea of how much fun our very own farm would be, but at the fact that he would have to scoop up 12 kinds of poop at the end of the party.    

“Uh, no, MOV.  Try again.” 

And try I did. 

I looked into bounce houses, magicians, laser tag, pool parties, water parks ...

... miniature golf, and bowling. 

I considered reptiles-by-the-hour and unknown comedians. 

I called clowns, basketball coaches, professional flame throwers ...

... and circus-to-go.  In the end, I turned to the one person who mattered most in the decision-making process. 

“Thank you for calling Bank of America, how may I help you?” answered the ultra-cheery phone teller. 

“Yes, please, I need to find out my balance?” 

Strangely enough, professional flame-throwers happen to charge more than $17.44 (my current bank balance) to appear at a child’s party for two hours. 

Who knew? 

“I think we can get them some beach balls?” I suggested hopefully to The Husband.  “And I have a coupon for plastic water guns?” 

“Done.”  The Husband smiled, content that he had the foresight to remove his credit card number from my online PayPal account. 

When the day arrived (today) for the party, I began to panic.  Water guns!  What the hell was I thinking?  What kind of dumb party was this? 

We were not even feeding the guests anything other than ice-cream cake. 

“Welcome!” I blurted out to the first child arriving.  “Come on in, grab a water gun and a beach ball!” 

All my worries melted away, just like the ice-cream cake did in 92 degree heat.  The kids had a blast.  They ran, they squirted each other, they kicked the beach balls.  No one said, “Where is the bounce house?” or “Where is the magician?” 

When the party was over, each child took a beach ball and a water gun home with him.  There were no goody bags.  As they were walking out to their car, I overheard one little boy announce to his mother,

“I want a water-gun party for my birthday, too!” 

I might have an extra coupon for his mom.    

MOV