I don’t know whether I’ve documented every one of Dash’s birthday parties here, but I know I’ve done a lot of them. Last year, the big One-Oh, seemed like the culmination. Dash had been planning it since before he turned nine, all the kids I thought wouldn’t be able to come showed up, and it was a giant, crazy, over-the-top ball of mayhem.
“No more!” we said, spent, forgetting that Dash would continue to have birthdays every year. This April rolled around and we realised that we would not get out of hosting some sort of party, because he is the polar opposite of his sister who really only wants a trip to Build-a-Bear with one or two friends. I tried to convince him to do a destination event – the really cool climbing wall place, perhaps, that he’s wanted to go back to for ages – but no. It had to be a party at home.
“I’ve always had a party at home, except that one year when we went to Pump It Up and I didn’t like that. It has to be at home.” He was not for turning.
“But Daddy and I are exhausted. We can’t come up with more party games. Your friends don’t want to play lame party games made up by you and your parents. It’s chaos. It’s anarchy. And it’ll probably rain. We can’t do it,” we said. Impasse.
Then, salvation arrived in the shape someone who mentioned that they’d had a laser-tag birthday party at their house. A guy had come along with a van full of laser guns, showed the kids how to use them, and then run the games for two hours. All I’d have to do was feed ’em. (I can do that. Though I always underestimate how much other people’s boys can eat.)
I was sold. I got the contact details and booked it. We capped the invitees at a smaller number than last year. Everyone was happy. I forgot to obsessively monitor the weather forecast because I was busy being busy with other things, and we just threw a party two weeks ago (for B’s birthday). Suddenly, the day before the day was upon us, and I had to plan the party food, shop for the party food, make the party food, clean the house (a very little bit), and make sure the sun was going to shine.
The weather forecast was not good. In fact, there was a 65 to 85% chance of rain during the time of the party. Dash and I went to the supermarket on Friday after dinner and bought everything we could possibly need – except butter and chocolate chips, which I had to send B out for as soon as we got back – and I made the cake.
On the morning of the party my luck was in and Mabel’s soccer game was cancelled because of all the rain on Friday. Dash went to baseball practice and I sandwiched the three layers of chocolate cake (as requested) together with lovely chocolate buttercream, and dredged some icing sugar on top. As, I thought, requested. Then Dash got home (practice cut short due to rain) and announced that it was meant to be vanilla icing, and it was supposed to be on top as well. It was ruined. I was the worst party mom ever, he said sadly. I always get something wrong, he told me, neglecting to remember all the things I got right that he didn’t even notice. I felt somewhat under-appreciated, though it was true that he’d said vanilla and I’d forgotten.
We both retreated for a little while to lick our wounds, and then I suggested we could make some vanilla icing and put it on the top, since the icing sugar that was there already wouldn’t hinder that. He agreed it would be better than nothing. (I thought it would be just that bit more cloying, but it wasn’t my cake.) He helped, and did all the spreading. (Exhibit B, below.) Then he helped make lemon scones too, since there was still plenty of time. He’s a man of tradition, and if a party doesn’t have chocolate cornflake buns and lemon scones and pigs in blankets, it’s not a party. (Actually, he just likes plain blankets, with no pigs.)
The rain had been coming and going all morning, but mostly coming. I thought it might let up in time for the party. The guests were a little late and the laser-tag guy was late too, because the Beltway was chockablock of people driving to or from or to avoid the March for Science in DC. It didn’t matter. He got them all fitted out with their guns and they ran around playing various games of team-based laser tag for an hour and a half, mostly in the pouring rain. I looked out the window and was mildly concerned, hoped their mothers wouldn’t hold the weather against me, and went to find a pile of towels.
Eventually they all came in, shedding muddy shoes and towelling off their wet hair at the door, and descended on the table like the proverbial locusts. Dash got to light his candles – at least the first few – and blew them out in one go. Parents arrived and removed their damp progeny, leaving behind nothing but tumbleweeds of tossed-aside wrapping paper, the tracks of wet socks, and tortilla-chip crumbs on the floor, and everyone said they’d had a good time.
I would have liked some wine at that point, but first I had to take Dash down to the urgent care, because he’d managed to bump his chin off the laser-tag gun right at the start and give himself an oddly deep cut. It needed three stitches, which was a first for both of us, but there was no wait and the tetanus shot was much better than he was anticipating. The doctor asked me about my brogue, which is never a good word to use to a suburban Dubliner, but she didn’t know any better. I distracted us all with stories of Dash’s birth in Texas eleven years ago tomorrow, and if he does have a scar it’ll be a handsome one that makes him look like Kirk Douglas (if you like that sort of thing; my mother would frown and say “Oh, he was never my cup of tea”).
The doctor said he can’t do gym or sports and has to stay away from situations where balls might fly at his face (yes, she actually said that, but I didn’t point out that she was quoting Clueless). He’s very miffed that he’ll miss baseball all week, including his team’s first two games – but on the bright side, all the rain also caused them to postpone today’s season opening day ceremonies, and the big game between the winning and runner-up teams from last year, until next week, so he’ll be able to play in that.
I got my wine when I got home, but it wasn’t very nice and it gave me a headache this morning anyway. Tomorrow he turns eleven. It wasn’t the best birthday celebration day ever, probably; but the big day is still to come. There’s a giant Nerf gun and some Lego Technic waiting for him, which I think he’ll like even if it isn’t a Playstation. We’re not the greatest birthday parents, but we try, every year.