First, a confession: I'm not one of those moms who craves hosting birthday parties. I'm just not. We could get into a long analysis of my reservations on the matter, but you really don't need to know about my childhood of being raised with wolves nor my abiding fear of a pack of sugared-up kids.
And it's not like I haven't made the effort. Because believe me, I've sewn scores of tiny aprons well into the night...only to watch in horror the next day as my visions of a quaint cookie decorating experience devolve into a Lord of the Flies scenario with little girls waxing territorial over the sprinkles and threatening one another with plastic knives. I've done that. And I've practically forfeited my eyesight in the quest to create matching paper dolls for each precious partygoer...only to field cries of distress once they realized that was the only favor. And my signature mishap, the one I've pulled time and again: organizing a craft which is well beyond the children's skill level (as in: since when can't a four year old handle a glue gun??) and thus being confronted with ten budding Michaelangelos who expect me to assemble their miniature Sistine Chapels using toothpicks, crayons, and corrosive chemicals all at the very same time.
So needless to say, it seemed as if the heavens had opened a few weeks ago when Sophie and Izzy approached me with the idea of planning Caroline's birthday party by themselves. I honestly felt the weight of the universe lift from my shoulders. And I am telling you, dear reader, the entire experience was a thing of beauty from start to finish. The scurryings and the whispers, the huddled and hushed meetings, the lists, the diagrams, the rejected lists and diagrams, the starting anew with a fresh sheet of paper! The girls did all this and more.
And when they finally narrowed down their ideas and mapped the occasion just so, I took them to Target with a nominal budget and set them loose on the store.
It was a sight to behold. The agonizing, the handwringing, the tallying of numbers in their notebook (and the clicking of the pen!), the placing and returning of items in the basket, the combinations and permutations of cheap, plastic goods! And when it came time to check out, how they hovered over the unwitting clerk, eyeballing the total with clenched fists and pale countenances. Would they come in under the limit? It was getting close! But they did. They did! They beat their budget! And a cheer erupted at checkstand #6 the likes of which has never been witnessed in a Target store before nor since.
And now I leave you with a brief, pictorial essay portraying the lovely time enjoyed by one and all, a celebration planned and executed entirely by my two sweet girls, which was every bit as much a gift to their grateful mother as it was to their delighted little sister.
The spread:
The salon (and Sophie's cast is off!):
The cakewalk:
The culminating moment:
Caroline said she wants next year's party to be exactly like this one. Sophie and Izzy were speechless with delight.
So was I.