Dear reader, Saturday was glorious. I never imagined one could say that about the day a wolf pack of girls descended upon one's house, but truly, I went to bed both tired and very happy.
Perhaps I should explain my track record with birthday parties. They bewilder me. Don't forget, my brain is one that gets washed out to sea over minor logistical challenges (such as clearing my studio table), so the thought of planning for, preparing, and pulling off an event designed to keep a gang of girls from rising up in mutiny leaves me curled in bed, shivering, staring blankly at the walls.
And it's mainly my own fault. Because I have a hard time reading my audience...like the time I organized a craft for a five-year-old party which involved the use of glue guns. Seriously. Prior to the event I visualized the whole thing going off without a hitch, but the second the girls arrived and started making me incredibly nervous about the state of their fine motor skills, guess who ended up assembling ten tiny dioramas amidst a chorus of plaintive voices?
The headmistress on the verge the nervous breakdown, that's who.
Or the time I tried to organize a little stitching activity, only to be pinned against the wall by a throng of diminutive seamstresses demanding to have their needles re-threaded about once every ten seconds.
Or the time, in my madness, I sewed ten little aprons and had the girls decorate sugar cookies, sending them home with the aprons and a sweetly packaged box of their creations, only to be met with with mass hysteria at the doorway when those same little angels realized they were not to receive a bag of traditional party favors (aka: plastic refuse) after all.
I don't know. I just love the thought of a simple, creative party wherein the girls come with their best manners, Ma makes vanity cakes, and Laura tricks that mean Nellie Oleson into wading through a pool of bloodsuckers.
And this time I think I got my wish.
The girls were thrilled to hear there was a pot of carnivorous playdough awaiting them. As they pounded and pumelled it into submission, Sophie and Izzy circled the table adding drops of food coloring, peppermint oil, and fairy dust (glitter).
Let me just say this: the combination of color, scent, sparkles, and something squishy is a big winner amongst girls aged 5 through 40.
Brief aside: Please note Sophie's hand (with the 7-11 Sharpie tattoo)...she swam in a competition that morning and took first place in her heat for freestyle! And second for backstroke! I was so excited for my girl.
The other activity (which we did first) involved affixing, with removable tape, the first initial of each girl's name onto a lunch bag and having the girls decorate the bags with crayons. Once their masterpieces were complete, the tape was removed and the results were lovely.
These became the gift bags into which I placed their playdough (secured in plastic wrap), plus a tiny pad of Japanese paper, pencil, and eraser.
(gift bag idea thanks to my dear sister Julianna who only a week earlier hosted a similar celebration and talked me through this one).
Beyond that, I just let the girls play, have vigorous discussions over whose turn it was on the swing, eat brownies with whipped cream and strawberries (my birthday girl does not care for cake) and other assorted snacks, open gifts, and hug the living daylights out of each other.
For those of you who may be interested, although I did not keep a stringent account of my expenses, this party likely did not exceed a budget of forty dollars. I did not decorate (that is the Ma Ingalls in me...I think a clean house is the prettiest accoutrement) and I am also the kind of person who keeps vast supplies of brownie mixes, flour, food coloring, peppermint oil, and glitter on hand.
Vast supplies of glitter.
Honestly, it was the kind of day I will save in memory and relive with pleasure over and over again.
And I think she will, too.