Boy9 turns into Boy10 this coming Wednesday.
You know what that means, right?
I loooooove birthday parties. I love them so much that one year my friend, who doesn’t love birthday parties, asked if I would host her son’s birthday party at my house.
Duh! Of course! Yeeees!
I’m just sad that Boy9 has outgrown balloons and that if I make him wear the Birthday Boy pin his friends will giggle at him.
So far the party has been a roaring success, and I don’t use the word roaring lightly. When did all these 10 year old boys start getting deep voices? It’s only been 2 and a half hours and Boy9 has already almost completely lost his voice. They keep talking overtop of each other and everyone complains, “No one is listening to me!” Nope. No one is listening to anyone, except themselves. Wonder if I should intervene? Nah.
One of the party guests shot another one (nerf gun), and the shot kid collapsed to the kitchen floor. Before I could stop him, Darling Husband had squirted ketchup on the kid’s forehead and called everyone in to see the wounded kid. Everything was fine until the ketchup oozed into the kid’s eye. This is why kids end up in the ER when their dads are “watching them” more than when their moms are watching them. (The kid’s eye is fine. He washed it out in the sink.)
So, tonight has been the eating of pizza, the nerf gun battles, the playing on the manual typewriter (“What is that thing?”), the opening of presents (including the gift bags ending up on everyone’s heads as helmets), and the
screaming singing of happy birthday.
But tomorrow is when we have fun, because tomorrow is when we play laser tag.
I. Can’t. Wait.
Did I mention that I love birthday parties?