Party Planner For Hire

I have read several times over the years that October 5 is the date with the most American birthdays.  Mostly because of New Year’s Eve.  You know, people liquored up, jumping under the covers in the chill of December.  And voila, a baby arrives around October 5.

My husband is one of these babies.  And now I have unfortunate mental images of my in-laws on a cold winter’s night that I’d prefer to block out forever.

But anyway.  Today is my husband’s 16th annual 29th birthday.

I like to tease him about his age.  Not just because he’s older than I am (though this is most of the reason).  But also because he doesn’t care.  And because he looks about 34 and acts feels about 27. Which is probably why he doesn’t care.

In honor of his birthday, I won’t pick on him.  Much.

I’ll instead say how grateful I am that he puts up with me.  Which is the purest truth.

And what better way to show him how loved he is on this special day than by taking the family out for — wait for it — Back to School Night.  Because nothing says It’s a Party like cramming the halls of a pre-school with your kids right as the bedtime/meltdown point on the clock approaches.

Except for one thing:  It was a parents-only event.  Which I somehow overlooked.  Somehow.  In my Type A-ness, this kind of big detail escaped me.  Don’t ask me why I thought kids were supposed to attend this thing.  It makes no sense at their age.

My brain should not be donated to science.  Clearly.

So, there we were in the parking lot of the pre-school, with this revelation upon us — the birthday man, me and two kids who weren’t supposed to be there.  To really put the evening’s party effect over the top, I went into the school alone and he circled the neighborhood with the kids in the car until my 30 minutes of pre-school mingling were over.

Yes, he’s a lucky man.  It’s true.

But don’t you worry.  I’ll take him out for dinner and copious drinks one night soon.  So that we can catch up on other exciting things — like why our living room floor is now buckling from the endless basement renovation.

And in the meantime, we had cake.  Baked by my awesome sous chefs and me.

There was palpable anticipation as they waited by the oven.  And, during which time, I began to wonder if I should have eaten my weight in uncooked cake batter.

Then there was the frosting process.  We might have eaten more than we used.

And, if you’re four years old, it’s important to be a good cake eater.  Like a world record setting, where-the-hell-did-that-piece-of-cake-go eater.

So, as you can see, all was not lost.  Our kids got to cruise the neighborhood after dark to check out Halloween lights.  And our son showed us his future in competitive cake eating.

My husband?  He totally rolled with it.  Which is what makes him the best.

Happy Birthday, P.  I promise to give you a proper celebration that doesn’t entail construction paper, toddler meltdowns and wife dipshittery real soon.