11:17 a.m.
I pause for a moment to take in the gifts table. It’s a sea of pink bags, sparkly tissue, Dora wrapping paper, Sanrio shopping bags. I am mildly disgusted by the excess, and regret not writing “no presents, please” on the invitation like I had wanted. I wish I had x-ray vision: does that box contain a thousand pieces that are going to be flung into every corner of my house? Does that one have some evil polymer that I’m going to have to scrub out of my rug? What kind of terrible mom wishes her daughter’s presents away?
11:29 a.m.
One of Annie’s friends falls and scratches his nose. He cries for a bit and Annie observes, visibly concerned. A few minutes later, she approaches him to offer, “Your nose is okay now?” and then gives him a tiny hug. I don’t think anyone else saw it, but I beamed with pride, and for a moment I was in the moment. If I had been running around stressing about paint stains, or party favors I would have missed it. A nice reminder of how beautiful things can be if you are truly present—even in the middle of birthday chaos.
11:45 a.m.
Time to sing “Happy Birthday”! Friends graciously offer to take pictures and video so we can assemble around Annie while she blows out her candles. I squat down near the birthday girl as the hot pink Hello Kitty cupcakes are presented. Annie is wide-eyed and grinning. Things are going smoothly until her brother (inadvertently?) blows out two of her candles with his party blower. My body tenses and I start strategizing “Operation: Rekindle” in my head. Thankfully, she is oblivious. She scoops tiny fingerfuls of frosting into her mouth until it’s gone, then abandons the cupcake and runs off to play.
11:52 a.m.
The party is winding down. And now, the final test of my party prowess: the Loot Bag. I’ve agonized about these things for weeks (I swear, I was paralyzed in the clearance section at Target for almost forty-five minutes trying to make the “right” choice), and now it’s time for their debut. Will they meet with the exacting standards of the pre-school set? Did I walk the line: thoughtful and theme-related, without being too excessive or too junky? As I dole them out, I decide to let go of all this nonsensical self-deprecation and surrender, even smile a little (a real one, not the plastered-on kind). Because the true measure of the party’s success rests not on the approval of my guests (or their children), but solely on the face of the birthday girl, which features a weary smile crusted in hot pink frosting. I can feel my body letting go, and for a moment, I’m relaxed.
That is, until it’s time to pay the bill.
