I recently had the pleasure of attending the first birthday of a friend's sweet little twinies. The babes were preemies and had been through such an amazing first year of life. Getting that invitation took me right back to the day they were born. So tiny and fighting to live. Their mama, so brave. Each day these babies kicked butt and grew and grew and fought and fought. Seeing that invitation made my heart swell. I was excited to go and celebrate them and all they had conquered.
We arrived at the party just the two of us. Mama and Mr. Pants. It was hot and Grandma Pants stayed back with Miss Plum. Now I don't go anywhere without a plan because Mr. Pants is two. And two year olds are certifiably insane. So my plan was to let him enjoy the park and hopefully we would both come back alive. I packed some snacks and brought his dinos and juice. I mentally prepared for all possabilities and we got in the car. 1:30 pm we arrive to the celebration. By 1:50, we were heading home.
Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes wherein I am sweating bullets and might cry. Here's the breakdown of what I lovingly refer to as "The Day Mr. Pants Went Ape Shit at The Party".
We arrive. Mr. Pants gets a balloon tied to his belt loop. This is exciting to him for about 42 seconds. There is a field next to the picnic area and Mr. Pants begins to run. I'm thinking, "This is great! He will tire himself out a bit and be ready to eat". But there is also a small cliff that drops into the creek and some sharp rocks so I station myself between the field and the cliff to head off any brilliant ideas Mr. Pants might have about jumping into the abyss (See! I'm prepared). As he runs, his green ballon is bashing him in the head and working it's way around his neck. My attempts to save him from strangulation are met with resistance. Mr. Pants believes I am trying to ruin his fun.
OH LOOK! A pile of sticks!
He breaks about 14 sticks in a demonstration of brut strength complete with grunting sound effects with each SNAP of a stick. Then, one weapon in each hand, he saunters into the pavillion. I see the look on his face and scurry quickly to intervene. I believe his thought process was this, "Hmmm, I have two sticks! One in each hand! And there are TWO babies! One for each pointy stick! I will poke...." This is when I get there and stop his inevitable assault on the birthday babies.
And man does that piss him off.
Rolling in the dirt is his protest to my heroism. Kicking, kicking, kicking and then..."LOOK! A CLIFF!...I must run and jump!". My primal scream of "STOP!" actually reaches him and he turns to me and giggles (EVIL!). I look over to see another guest of the party in a cold sweat, terrified that she almost witnessed my two year old plumet to the creek. I start to talk with her but am quickly distracted once again as Mr. Pants begins his sprint towards the road.
Why in the hell am I wearing flip flops?!?!?
By this time, more kiddos have arrived and are behaving beautifully. They are dressed in their party clothes and playing sweetly while their people snap adorable pictures. Meanwhile Mr. Pants looks a HOT MESS drenched in sweat and covered in dirt. One mama decides it's a good time to bring out some bubbles. I think she was trying to help me, bless her heart. I can only assume that I looked pretty crazed as I was drenched in sweat and had that coming unhinged grin on my face ala Stepford. It was 90 degrees so obviously my face was beet red too.
I say, "Look bud! Bubbles!" and for a moment it seemed as though Mr. Pants was going to play with the bubbles. He calmly walks over to the table and picks out a purple bottle of bubbles and hands it to me to open. We've played with bubbles before, he loves it in fact. So I hand him the bubbles and turn my head for a moment to toss the protective seal in the trash. He takes this opportunity to chug half the bottle of bubbles and begins gagging and spitting. He is so offended at the bottle that he pours the rest down his shirt as he sputters and gags and pukes a little. Much to the delight (horror) of the other party guests.
Now he is SUPER rage-tastic pissed and rolling around in the dirt... again.
Parents are looking to me with surprised eyes. This is precisely when I knew we'd be leaving. But in a last ditch effort to save any kind of face and also because I was STARVING, I try to make us a little food for the road. The birthday twin's mama is standing near the food table when I tell her that I think it's best that I take Mr.Crazy Nutso Pants home and that I'm sorry. This is the perfect opportunity for Mr. Pants to try and take the entire bowl of potato chips. See, he doesn't want his own bowl. He wants the enormous bowl that contains an entire bag of chips. That's the bowl he wants. When I stop him from taking the bowl he flails like a nut and chips fly. I scoop him up as he resists me and he reaches out to smack his nasty hands onto the plates of buns. Poking holes and leaving bubble solution and dirt on as many buns as he possibly can.
What a sweetheart.
My face cannot be saved. So I turn to my friend and say in the most calm voice I can muster and a Stepford Mom grin, "Thank you so much for the invite. We are gonna go ahead and go."
On my way to the car, I pass another mama I know who is just arriving to the party. "Leaving already?", she asks. "Yeah, gotta pull the plug. He's puking bubble solution and wreaking havoc", I say. She smiles, "Yep! I've been there." and I'm thankful for her. Arriving home, Mr. Pants circled the living room a few times and plopped on the couch. Asleep in about 4 minutes covered in dirt, chips, bubble solution and a little puke with a deflated green balloon still tied to his pants. I exhale and sit down to the computer to send the twin's mama a message. Thanking her for the invite and apologizing for my kid. I suspect this is not the last time we will exit not so gracefully from an event.
But the next time, I will be a little more prepared. And we will eat before we get there.
We arrived at the party just the two of us. Mama and Mr. Pants. It was hot and Grandma Pants stayed back with Miss Plum. Now I don't go anywhere without a plan because Mr. Pants is two. And two year olds are certifiably insane. So my plan was to let him enjoy the park and hopefully we would both come back alive. I packed some snacks and brought his dinos and juice. I mentally prepared for all possabilities and we got in the car. 1:30 pm we arrive to the celebration. By 1:50, we were heading home.
Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes wherein I am sweating bullets and might cry. Here's the breakdown of what I lovingly refer to as "The Day Mr. Pants Went Ape Shit at The Party".
We arrive. Mr. Pants gets a balloon tied to his belt loop. This is exciting to him for about 42 seconds. There is a field next to the picnic area and Mr. Pants begins to run. I'm thinking, "This is great! He will tire himself out a bit and be ready to eat". But there is also a small cliff that drops into the creek and some sharp rocks so I station myself between the field and the cliff to head off any brilliant ideas Mr. Pants might have about jumping into the abyss (See! I'm prepared). As he runs, his green ballon is bashing him in the head and working it's way around his neck. My attempts to save him from strangulation are met with resistance. Mr. Pants believes I am trying to ruin his fun.
OH LOOK! A pile of sticks!
He breaks about 14 sticks in a demonstration of brut strength complete with grunting sound effects with each SNAP of a stick. Then, one weapon in each hand, he saunters into the pavillion. I see the look on his face and scurry quickly to intervene. I believe his thought process was this, "Hmmm, I have two sticks! One in each hand! And there are TWO babies! One for each pointy stick! I will poke...." This is when I get there and stop his inevitable assault on the birthday babies.
And man does that piss him off.
Rolling in the dirt is his protest to my heroism. Kicking, kicking, kicking and then..."LOOK! A CLIFF!...I must run and jump!". My primal scream of "STOP!" actually reaches him and he turns to me and giggles (EVIL!). I look over to see another guest of the party in a cold sweat, terrified that she almost witnessed my two year old plumet to the creek. I start to talk with her but am quickly distracted once again as Mr. Pants begins his sprint towards the road.
Why in the hell am I wearing flip flops?!?!?
By this time, more kiddos have arrived and are behaving beautifully. They are dressed in their party clothes and playing sweetly while their people snap adorable pictures. Meanwhile Mr. Pants looks a HOT MESS drenched in sweat and covered in dirt. One mama decides it's a good time to bring out some bubbles. I think she was trying to help me, bless her heart. I can only assume that I looked pretty crazed as I was drenched in sweat and had that coming unhinged grin on my face ala Stepford. It was 90 degrees so obviously my face was beet red too.
I say, "Look bud! Bubbles!" and for a moment it seemed as though Mr. Pants was going to play with the bubbles. He calmly walks over to the table and picks out a purple bottle of bubbles and hands it to me to open. We've played with bubbles before, he loves it in fact. So I hand him the bubbles and turn my head for a moment to toss the protective seal in the trash. He takes this opportunity to chug half the bottle of bubbles and begins gagging and spitting. He is so offended at the bottle that he pours the rest down his shirt as he sputters and gags and pukes a little. Much to the delight (horror) of the other party guests.
Now he is SUPER rage-tastic pissed and rolling around in the dirt... again.
Parents are looking to me with surprised eyes. This is precisely when I knew we'd be leaving. But in a last ditch effort to save any kind of face and also because I was STARVING, I try to make us a little food for the road. The birthday twin's mama is standing near the food table when I tell her that I think it's best that I take Mr.Crazy Nutso Pants home and that I'm sorry. This is the perfect opportunity for Mr. Pants to try and take the entire bowl of potato chips. See, he doesn't want his own bowl. He wants the enormous bowl that contains an entire bag of chips. That's the bowl he wants. When I stop him from taking the bowl he flails like a nut and chips fly. I scoop him up as he resists me and he reaches out to smack his nasty hands onto the plates of buns. Poking holes and leaving bubble solution and dirt on as many buns as he possibly can.
What a sweetheart.
My face cannot be saved. So I turn to my friend and say in the most calm voice I can muster and a Stepford Mom grin, "Thank you so much for the invite. We are gonna go ahead and go."
On my way to the car, I pass another mama I know who is just arriving to the party. "Leaving already?", she asks. "Yeah, gotta pull the plug. He's puking bubble solution and wreaking havoc", I say. She smiles, "Yep! I've been there." and I'm thankful for her. Arriving home, Mr. Pants circled the living room a few times and plopped on the couch. Asleep in about 4 minutes covered in dirt, chips, bubble solution and a little puke with a deflated green balloon still tied to his pants. I exhale and sit down to the computer to send the twin's mama a message. Thanking her for the invite and apologizing for my kid. I suspect this is not the last time we will exit not so gracefully from an event.
But the next time, I will be a little more prepared. And we will eat before we get there.
Inside it says, "Mr. Pants sure is a party animal!"
