Every Party Has a Pooper, That's Why We Invited Dad

I tease out the details of Hil's birthday plans at the House of Louse. He has, for the first time in her life, agreed to host a birthday party. A sleepover no less. I am frantic with worry. He is not exactly a natural entertainer.

This has traditionally been my domain and I am proud to say we have really churned out the hype when we've invited kids into our home to celebrate.

There was Pat's truck themed party complete with a dump truck cake, the bed of which was filled with graham cracker crumbs, the wheels formed from chocolate covered doughnuts.

Or his beach party with an ice cream cake formed into a sand castle and a sheet cake that looked exactly like a beach complete with edible shells and beach umbrellas.

And Hil's party where I decided to Go Big at a tumultuous time in the kids' lives, simply as a distraction, and a reminder that life will go on, even parties. It was a hula party. I hired a company to send two hula instructors to come and teach 20 little girls how to hula. They brought costume changes and a sound system. They were amazing. I gave each girl a grass skirt and every game ended with the distribution of leis. Pin the hibiscus on the hula girl (a life-sized hula girl fashioned from poster board and clad in a grass skirt fashioned from a green Dollar Store table cloth folded and shredded with a razor by yours truly) and a hula girl piñata. Fruit kabobs, coconut chicken and shrimp. And of course, Hawaiian punch. A huge hit.

And some years later, a red carpet Oscar party. Twelve starlets got their hair and makeup done, got a bag of Dollar Store makeup swag, and got to raid my closet for red carpet glam to wear. Each starlet walked the red carpet, was photographed in all their finery, received a statuette and award and a personalized star on the Walk of Fame. Dancing and Oscar-shaped cake followed sparkling grape juice in champagne glasses and hot hors d'oevres passed on silver trays. I sent photos to the girls with Hil's thank you notes. It was the event of the season.

As the kids have gotten older, the celebrations have changed...sleepovers that end at Starbucks in our pajamas and trips to Dave and Busters (i.e. Hell for Parents, as opposed to Chuck E. Cheez, Hell for Parents, Jr.) And frankly, as birthday parties give way to Bar Mitzvahs and are tabled in anticipation of blow out Sweet 16s, we have had very few to throw and to attend.

And Lars, who was scarcely involved in the myriad details of planning any party in the first place, is out of practice. And aided only by Liza, the non-parent, who hasn't shown much finesse for birthday celebrating, as demonstrated by torching her own hair at her most recent fiesta.

I broach the subject of planning with Hil.

She, thank the Lord, is on to the lameness of her father's party-throwing acumen. She already has ideas. Sleepover for 6. Dance Party III on Wii. Team blindfolded makeup application. Build your own sundae. Truth or Dare. Waffles and chocolate covered strawberries for breakfast the next morning. Amen to my girl for taking matters into her own shapely little girly hands. She will have no lame-o party. No, no. Not her.

And as a mother I heave a sigh of relief that some of what I have done has been observed and absorbed by my children.  Not only how to cross a street or how to balance a check book, but how, when faced with a sad but simple truth, you stay calm and carry on, and do for yourself.