Our small celebration usually
entails sending the kid to school with goodie bags for the class, letting the
kid celebrate her day with friends at school (also called Mommy and Daddy
getting the full value of the daycare they paid for and getting a solid 6-8 hours
of peace, quiet and productivity), picking the kid up early and heading to Choo
Choo Johnny’s to celebrate with the immediate family. The climax of the small celebration is a
family party on the weekend either before or after the birthday where grandparents,
aunts, uncles, cousins and a couple of adult friends come to our house to eat,
watch the birthday kid open presents, sing "Happy Birthday" and eat cake and ice
cream. Dan and I have become a pretty
well-oiled machine with this, not to suggest that I’m not showering ten minutes
before guests are to arrive.
I used to have big expectations
around the perfection of the Leatherkids’ birthdays. Said perfection had less to do with the plans
and more to do with the Leatherkids’ engagement in it and general happiness as
we navigated our way through the plans.
I think a person should be happy on his birthday, his special day, his
day to be celebrated. With a few Leatherkid
birthdays under my belt, I’ve learned not to have any expectations and just be
pleasantly surprised IF they go well. To
the Leatherkids (at least in their Leatherparents’ presence), a birthday is
just another day… another day to test the boundaries… to test our patience… to
bring us one step closer to the Looney Bin.
 |
| Ella, before it was time to leave |
So when our trip to Choo Choo
Johnny’s to celebrate Ella’s birthday last Friday ended with Dan carrying a
stubborn, screaming and coatless Ella out to the car, I was relatively
unaffected. When Cal told me that I was
“boring” and that he didn’t like me after I told him for the fifth time that it
was time to leave Choo Choo Johnny’s, I was simply frustrated as I would have
been any other day. But not disappointed.
And I had no problem sending Ella to bed without books after she
wouldn’t take any responsibility and
action in getting ready for bed.
Our family party two days later
actually went pretty well. And by “pretty
well,” I mean that Ella was actually pleasant most of the time. I qualify that as “most of” only because she
was pretty shy, disinterested and uninvolved at the onset of her party. I have to deduct some points for pleasantness
for that. She turned it around when I
asked her if she wanted to go downstairs to play with her cousins to which she
answered, “can you carry me?” I may have
done a mental eye roll as I responded with a reluctant, “yes.” Ella’s going through a needy, princess phase,
so my tolerance for these types of requests is pretty low. So when she told me that she wanted me to sit
on the stairs and watch her play with her cousins downstairs, I declined and
marched right back up the stairs full of hope that this would not cause a
meltdown. It didn't.
The party went pretty well – good
food, good conversations, good stories.
Ella opened gifts, and we all sang “Happy Birthday” to her as she sat
behind her purple – yes, they sell purple frosting – cake with three candles on
it. Shortly after that, most guests
left. Aunt Pam, Uncle Joe (both family
friends) and Grandpa R stuck around a little while longer to entertain the
Leatherkids, mostly with the magic of creating static on a blown-up balloon and
sticking it to things.
To end her special day, Ella insisted
that I read to her and put her to bed. I
was tired and afraid of the stress that was a head of me; but I complied. I remained patient as I constantly reminded
her to stay focused on getting ready for bed.
I remained patient as she fumbled her way through getting ready for bed,
talking incessantly about every step in getting ready for bed as she did
so. I held my breath as I helped her
brush her teeth, wondering the whole time when she’d start fighting me about it
like she normally does. And when she
picked her two books (both of them Fancy Nancy books), I initially told her
that we could read one because they’re too long (they’re really not) and then
corrected myself and read them both to her.
It really wasn’t fair that she pay the price for my lack of patience
when it was really history, not the current situation, that was making me
impatient.
Her special day ended with a
request “to rock for a little bit,” which we did. And then I put her into bed, put her blankets
on in proper order, pulled her jammy pants up, made sure she had Sheep and three
of her Minnies (including Itty Bitty Minnie, one of her birthday gifts), turned
the closet light on, adjusted her blankets, told her “Happy Birthday,” gave her
a kiss, complied with her request for a “kiss and a hug,” told her “I love you,”
complied with her request for “one more kiss and a hug,” hurried toward the
door and said “I love you” as I did so, and then turned to look at her when she
said, “Mommy, I love you,” (this, I like – she signs "I love you") and then told
her “I love you, too."
It was a good end to a birthday weekend that started a little rocky. Happy 3rd Birthday ONE MORE TIME, Boo Boo!
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