Recovery: Or how to survive a birthday party

Hottie

So Saturday we celebrated our son’s fourth birthday.

I know! I’m wondering not only how we managed to survive four years of parenthood, but also how we managed to survive our first party where we invited some of his friends.

It is, frankly, a miracle.

Birthday

So 9 years ago I turned 25.

And 9 years ago I was somewhere else entirely. Literally and figuratively. I was in Victoria, Canada, working 2 part-time jobs and taking 3 4th year level classes at the local university finishing off my degree in English and Art History.

I worked about 30 hours a week at a grocery store as a butcher’s assistant. And every Saturday I worked in a second-hand book-store. I lived with my cousin in a 3rd floor building overlooking downtown Victoria. All hardwood floors, with a gas fireplace. I had a cat. I had no car. I took the bus or rode my bike everywhere. I ran a lot.

I celebrated my birthday in a bar, with a tiara and some rather saucy pictures that one of my friends used on his ‘dirty drinks’ website. A website that has since disappeared. As have those pictures. Ha!

The year I turned 26, I did so in Japan. It probably involved karaoke. So did the year I turned 27 and 28. 29? That was the year M and I were preparing to leave Japan. My summer birthdays in Japan were always sweaty affairs. Japan is one humid and hot place to live. The summer was always full of the smell of wet. And barbeque. And charcoal. And the sounds of karaoke drifting faintly through downtown.

The year I turned 30, I celebrated in Orlando. I’d only been living here for about 6 months. M and I had the smallest apartment you have ever seen in your life. Although comparing it to the one we had in Japan, it was incredibly spacious.

Now this was a birthday that was celebrated with proper pomp and circumstance. M bought me 30 gifts. And we hit up downtown Orlando with sushi and tasty drinks. I have some very vague memories of that night.

2 years ago I celebrated with my newly born son. V was just a month old and to be honest I don’t even remember what we did. I think we might have eaten food. And then I might have slept. Those were the early days, the days I have no memory of. I blocked them out. That’s how you make it possible to have another child.

Last year, M took me out for a gourmet meal. We are slowly working our way through the Disney Resorts, dining-wise.

And tonight?

M was working this evening and so V and I went out for dinner. I managed to eat one piece of pizza at our favorite Italian place before V got bored with the evening. I only had to chase him around the restaurant 3 times. Lovely.

And bedtime was another disaster that I will blog about another day. And ongoing disaster, actually. And the evening ended with the 2 of us on the couch, watching Big Brother, snuggling with Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse. V cuddling up closer and closer.

V falling asleep. Me carrying him up to bed at 9:30 and then heading back downstairs to zone out with Mickey and Winnie for a little while longer before I hit the second floor as well.

9 years was a big journey.

xoxo a.m.

The celebration of two

Vince’s birthday was yesterday. An event heralded with much excitement by me. And M. I might have been more excited than anyone though. It might as well have been a coronation or the swearing-in of a new president.

There was a wee party at his school and I organized treats and cake. I left work early, got him a cute balloon and headed to school to surprise him. And it was quite a surprise. He was so surprised, actually, that he got a little upset. I think he thought we were going to leave and leave him there. So he shyly hid his head during “Happy Birthday” and refused to eat any cupcake.

Finally, after much reassurance, he was convinced to nibble on some cupcake. Really, more licking the icing than anything. It was the nicest party, his teachers even bought him a gift. M and I split up, planning to meet at Publix to pick up some necessities.

And post-parking, as V and I were walking to the store, the vomiting commenced. Remarkably it was the same colour as the icing he ate earlier (a little detail I know you were just begging for). And it just didn’t stop. And sadly, the whole thing made me laugh. Because really, what on earth do you do in that sort of situation?

Laugh?

Cry?

Laugh?

Or maybe laugh and cry?

Puke everywhere. Up my pants (splash back… nice). Down my shirt. All over him and in a puddle at my feet. Next to that car parked in the handicapped spot.

I just have to hand it to my Lake Nona Mammas. Two approached me in the throes of the hurl and offered both help and baby wipes. Thank you sisters. I wish I knew who you were, as I would probably make you my best friends. Those really are the kind of friends I want to have. The type that will go up to random woman with vomiting child and offer assistance.

Thank you ladies. Thank you.

30 minutes later, V was appearing fine. I mean, he was really fine. Super fine. Super fly! Fly!

Um, so then why did we have a repeat puke-a-thon 2 hours later? Lord only knows. But it seemed appropriate since it follows us everywhere. Usually in public.

We thought he was fine, but as we ordered it became apparent that he wasnt feeling well at all. There was the clinging. The hugging. The silence. The no smiling. The lethargy. And then finally? The vomit.

And that was followed by the total strip down in the ladies bathroom, a clothes rinse, a stroller rinse and the a surprise reappearance by the birthday boy himself naked, clad only in a diaper and in a damp stroller.

Daddy took him home. Mummy and Tita followed with M’s dinner. M broke his toe. We ate cake without Little Man. The presents languished on the table. We slept.

I woke up at 1:30 this morning to the sounds of “Mumma downstairs? Bottle? Milk? Waffles?” and so there we were. V was fine. He ate and then we went up to bed. My bed. Not his. And the wiggle-worm body wiggled all night long. I now understand that he takes after his Daddy. Restless. Geez.

And so that? That was the unofficial celebration of Two.

The official Celebration will take place tomorrow. Unofficially it is called ‘birthday do-over’. There will be Nemo. There will be family. There will be no stress like last year. There will be swimming and relaxing and sangria. Oh, and some cake and a few balloons.

There will be no puking? I happily accept your wishes winging my way…

xoxo a.m.

Two

Wee fish all in a row

Two.

It’s almost time. It’s in 2 days. I am freaking out. And not the same way as last year, because this year is something totally different. It’s called ‘friends’.

And I’m talking about V’s birthday, which is practically right now.

Not only is he going to be two, but he’s in ‘school’ and has ‘school friends’. And those friends equal about 18. And every single time that one of those little people have a birthday, V comes home with a bag of cute party favours.

I had been in the process of talking myself out of doing something like that… And then V came home Friday with a cute bag full of Pirate ‘booty’. Sigh. The pressure is on. I know you think I have a choice. And in some other dimension I do, but not in this particular one. And the other part is that I want to. I want to send home something adorable to the other children in V’s class so they (the parents) will (assumingly) think that Vincent’s Mum is super cool.

And while writing and reading what I just wrote, I realized I am back in high school. Preschool is like high school. In a manner of speaking.

Super popularity contest.

But, at the same time, since I have never really been able to do something like this for a class of children… I feel like I must. Like it’s just the biggest honour to plan things for my little man. Like I MUST show EVERYONE that I am so creative and awesome.

Probably I will get over this by next year. By then, he might be able to request things and not have them simply decided for him.

So he might not have a “No Monkey No Fish” birthday party like his mother has decided for him, because she thinks it’s the funniest thing ever. This party might not be filled with monkeys and fish. Because everyone loves them. I think I am confusing my self with negatives and double negatives.

So last night I painstakingly put together 20 little paper treasure chests filled with goodies for his birthday party on Friday. The Nemo cake has been ordered, party favours complete. Mummy is taking short lunch breaks this week in order to pick that Little man up  early and celebrate proper Italian style.

Which really means just celebrating with some more Italians. At an Italian restaurant. (Which should include red wine, which I will  probably need by the end of the week).

He is 2. Honest to god. Can you believe it? I can’t. Couldn’t you just die?

I have been so giddy this week, like I am going on holiday or something. I have this unreal sense of anticipation. And part of that could be related to M finally being done work for the year and Summer of Dad starting momentarily.Or not.  I have had super energy all week. It’s almost kind of psychotic. I am going to crash so bad one of these nights.

I am trying really hard to not work myself up into a total state like last year. My goal is to not need to go and lie down somewhere quiet during his birthday party like last year.

Hence the super-super low key teeny tiny party we are having this year. TEENY. And TINY. And CALM. I mean ‘calm’. Ah! I mean calm… Ya, that’s much better…

Send me some smooth, cool, sleek vibes for this upcoming weekend. Some calm, all bass with a little bit of sax silk…

2nd

I just made a bet with myself…and the internet…..

I bet that I can blog everyday. And if  I win, I get a massage from M (he is shouting in the background “Hey! I didn’t agree to that!!!!”….. doesn’t matter, my bet, not his) every night as well! It is shaping up to be an interesting month. My birthday month too.

In a week or so, I hit 33.

33. Man.

This year I am celebrating with tattoos. It is a Cousin-Love date. And by that, I mean that C and I are hitting up Ocala as I have been dying for an introduction to her favorite artist. Who just happens to be from BC as well, which is as random as you can get. A Canadian? In Ocala? Probably there are more of them there, but this is the first I’ve heard of it. As far as I know he is the only one there. Poor lonely Canadian. It’s so hard to befriend the natives….

I think he will make the 3rd Canadian that I know in Florida. I know there are more of you around, sometimes us Canadians are a little shy… we can’t be found at the outlet malls like the British and other Europeans. We are more likely to be found down in the Everglades or at some State Park swimming with Manatees than hitting up the cheap shoe sales…. (although, we totally will check out those sales after we check out the Manatees). Manatees totally come first, especially before a good sale at Premium Outlet Malls…

So how about it, eh? Do you think I can? Every day for a whole month….

Prepare for both riveting, epic posts and mundane boring poop. Oh, and actual poop. Both domestic and canine…