A Few

"Hey Mom? Can I have a few friends over to play video games?"
"Sure. That sounds like fun."

So today when I was getting ready to go to the store, I asked casually how many were coming for the evening's festivities.  "Around 12."  I recovered from the initial shock of numbers to ask the follow up question.  "How many did you invite?"   "20." 

"20?" I stared at my child with incredulity.  "I said a few.  You asked to invite a few. How many is a few?"  I shook my head.  "For the record," I held up my hand.  "Less than one hand worth of fingers is a few."  But then I went out to get the pizza and chips for the designated number.

Alone in the car, I had time to think.  How could we get to 12? Why didn't I ask?  Shouldn't I be happy he has 12 who want to come? Maybe living in a family of 12 has radically skewed the perception of many, some and a few for all my kids and I should make this clear now, or maybe I'm still new to this having older kids bit of parenting and so I don't speak teen. I called my brother who teaches sophomores and juniors at a private high school in Houston.

"How many is a few to teen boys?"  I asked.
"12-15" he answered.  He laughed. 

So I picked up the pizzas, added a few more sodas and a few bags of chips.  When I got home, I told him, "Tomorrow, I have a few chores for you." 

The Secret Ingredient to a Girl's Party

Yesterday we threw a party.  The plan was for a pink party:  A glittery sugar spun sparkly frosted girly girl party for a nine year old with jewelry and lots of giggling and song and dance.  

The oldest went into the dollar store for balloons.  He came out with orange and black.  It's all they had but orange and black.  Really?  It's not like we're having a party for the Bengals or the Browns. 

At home, the cupcakes needed their final glittery details.  My middle son asked if he could help.  He's artistic so I ceeded the job.

Each of the cupcakes had :(  or   :P or XX faces in pink glittery frosting. 

The girls were slated to paint their nails with Lee Press ons.  The manicures were interrupted by the seven year old that decided this party lacked the festivities brought on by a Gorilla.  He donned a mask and gloves and chased them around the house. 

So it was a great party and all the girls loved it.  It had everything that a 9 year old daughter needs at a party, plus the one extra special and necessary ingredient: Boys....specifically, brothers.

I...am...Tired....of....Cake

After Confirmation, Graduation, First Communion, Easter, Oldest kid's Spring Musical, Spring Band Concert, Elementary School kid's Spring Musical, Mother's Day, and five birthdays over 9 weeks, the perpetual fiesta that has taken place since March, finally drew to a close yesterday evening.  Or did it?

Tucking one of the youngers in, they talked about how they were going to a party the next day with a moon bounce and a barbecue and everything.  Then they remembered, they didn't get a party with a moon bounce and barbecue and everything. The thing is, we had family parties for each of these guys.  But having since been invited to other kids birthdays whose parents "love them better," yes, she used those words and then another sibling, sensing weakness, piled on. "We didn't get parties. Real parties." There were three kids who had just family gigs that we had hoped to skate by.

Some of these complaints were now two months old in origin and I had to wonder, wasn't there an expiration date on kid gripes and kid grudges?  Now I have many rational reasonable thoughtful reasons for NOT giving in to this absurd demand, and at the same time, I love these people irrationally so of course, I want the bells and whistles for every one of them that we couldn't manage at the time of their actual birthday.  I envisioned talk show hosts nodding sympathetically as they tearfully explained, "She never rented me a clown."  "I didn't get a pinata, I was deprived."  I thought back to try and pull them back to the fun times they had. They had presents.  They had streamer and balloons and cake and in some cases, even special events like baseball games or movies but with only "Family."  They celebrated only with the people that love them best, not the people that just like them. 

"But I would have gotten MORE presents." 

"But then you would have had to clean up MORE and write MORE thank you notes." I know, appealing to sloth to combat greed, probably not a right move but I was tired. 

"I wouldn't mind."  Oops, I raised a greedy but thankful kid.  Or at least a politically adept one.

So I'm considering my options.  1) Accept the slacker mom medal this year and make sure next year is all the bomb and hope they forget 2010.  2) Guilt laden, throw a party after school lets out, tell everyone it's for these three kids.  Rent the darn moon bounce and receive the I'm a Wimp Parent and have an Empty Wallet Award. 

As I wrote this, my oldest daughter came into the room.  She read the piece in it's uncooked form.  "When's my party with my friends?" she asked.  I started to protest but she gave me a wink.  She was just being ironic. We'd just thrown a graduation cook out last weekend.  She patiently suggested, "Still Mom.  You might want to set something up.  You are the next birthday. What do you want for your party?"  

 .  .  .

So maybe the real battle was my own sloth against my own greed.
I dialed 1800 rent a clown.   I offered my wallet and then said, "Do you have any openings?  I know a Mom who is a shoe-in for the Rope a Dope game."