I started packing another box today for our move to Myrtle Beach. This time it was books that were getting stacked. It was about all I could manage after a wild weekend filled with Daughter #5’s third birthday, basketball games, Sunday school and, of course, SuperBowl Sunday.
The gigantic mouse was all my daughter could talk about ever since we first took her to the kiddie “casino” last year to mark the end of the school year. She had been entranced when the mouse reached out and took her little, tiny hand in his big furry paw – her enormous blue eyes staring in sheer adoration. She was in love. She just had to go there for her next birthday, she pleaded – she couldn’t wait for the games and rides, and most of all – the huge mouse.
And so, that is where she got to go on Saturday night, her third birthday. The noise was ear-splitting, the kids packed wall to wall, my arms filled with tickets won from different games. And, after the hour of playtime ticked by, and the pizza was devoured and massive quantities of soda spilt, the announcement came that the mouse was about to come out to greet the special birthday boys and girls.
That’s when my Birthday Girl freaked. “I HATE HIM!” she screeched at top of her lungs. “I DON’T WANT TO SEE HIM!! I wanna go home NOW!! I HATE HATE HATE HIM!” All eyes were on us.
She ran and hid behind her oldest sister, who tried her best to coax her munchkin sized sister out. “No, NO. NO!!” she cried as the mouse emerged from a hidden location, the colored lights flashing – music blaring, and still, her screeching managed to overpower all that and we earned ourselves A LOT of curious glances from the other guests. And then, the mouse turned, and looked at her and came directly toward her, she shook with fear as he extended his paw. The paw that had made such a great impression on her a year ago. She seemed to remember the awe she felt the last time and ended up clinging to him with such passion that she had to be pried off of the fuzzy character so the other birthday kids could get near him.
Somehow, we got home at about eleven at night, the girls utterly exhausted, snoring softly in the back of the minivan, an enormous stuffed mouse clutched lovingly in the Birthday Girl’s arms. Her sisters had all pooled their tickets together and added to the tickets she already had in order to get her the doll.
I had no idea how I would ever get them up at 7:30 for Sunday School in the morning. However, there was one thing I did know. Tea WAS NOT going to do it for me when morning did come. So, technically, Bob and I are back together. I see my love for the coffee bean far exceeds that of tea leaves.
Morning came and it did take extra work to wake them up. (I kinda feel that sleep being as crucial as it is to a growing child, I let my girls sleep as late as they want on school days. Sundays are the only day they need to be up early). Finally, after threats of ice water were made, they s-l-o-w-l-y crawled out of their beds. And we all drove, zombie-like to Sunday school, where I dropped them off and wished I could simply go home and crawl back into bed.
But there were still basketball games to attend in the afternoon and, of course SUPERBOWL SUNDAY!!! The two girls born out on the Cape wanted the Pats and the three born here in New York wanted the Giants. To make it even, I went with the Pats. And XXX-tra hot “after-burner” wings and some wine.
Apparently, the very first opportunity I had to sit down last night, I fell asleep, which was right before the game ended. I found out who won this morning.
This afternoon, as we started packing the books, I gave Daughters #3, #4 and #5 instructions on which books were OK for them to pack and ran off to do yet another load of laundry. The weather has actually been quite nice – in the 50’s – which, for upstate New York is pretty darn toasty! The girls have happily taken advantage of this balmy weather by spending as much time as possible outside. In the messy February mud.
“What kind of book is this,” I could hear my three year old ask her eight year old sister as I loaded the washer.
“It’s a book about anatomy.”
“A book on Mommy?” I could hear the perplexion in her voice as she clearly misheard, “Let me see!! Let me see!!” Then, the sound of the book being snatched out of hands, and then giggling, “That’s Mommy????” Clearly they had found a children’s book on the human body and had it open to the page on the differences between boys and girls.
As soon as I got back to them, Daughter #5 thrust the book in question at me with one hand as her other planted itself on her hip in a very grown up, disapproving pose, “Mommy? Why are there naked pictures of you in this book?”
So this birthday ended up being only slightly less hectic than the actual day I gave birth to her. On my bathroom floor.