On Valentine's Day, my youngest child turns 9. Can it be, Lord, can it be? He asked me on the New Year's Day, "Can I please have a "friends" party this year?" (Meaning, not just family like every year except two of them.) I agreed.
At the time, four weeks post-surgery sounded like plenty of time to recover for an all-boy birthday party. (He made it clear: no girls. Okay, then. I'm more than fine with that. Girls' expectations are too high, anyway.)
Now, however, I am two weeks out and the very thought of "boys" in the same sentence with "party" makes me clutch my abdomen. Joel and I were discussing the details this morning.He decided on a sports theme. I approved his guest list, disapproved the arena he had in mind for indoor hockey, and nodded in agreement with the Outside Fun of soccer and football he was talking about, namely because it's outside, and therefore Paul the Dad is much more likely to "run with the ball" in more ways than one. And I suggested tug-of-war on the lawn, knowing I would only be there to offer my strength as a cheerleader and maybe get their scrawny little arm muscles and ruddy-warrior faces on camera.
I had the agenda in mind already. Time: 11-11:30. He gasped. I said I was kidding ( a little).
I had mercy and made it 11-1:00. Enough time for games, cake, and ice cream. Not enough time to set me back a week. Oh, and he said, "Nah, not cake. I'm kind of over cake for birthdays. Maybe just ice cream. Or brownies and ice cream." How perfect could that be, because right now I am "over" making birthday cakes.
If you have any more suggestions on how to make this a fun party without the momma playing a very big role the day of, please let me know.