Whoa Mama

Thursday, June 09, 2011

same title, different details

I feel that most of my blog posts should be entitled: I can't make this up.....

Aidan & Noah had their birthday at Chuck E. Cheese. It was not as dreadful as I had feared. In fact, it had some significant pluses.


# 1 – no prep

# 2 – no clean up

#3 – no kid wrangling

#4 – everybody was completely entertain

#5 – No one contracted e.Coli, flesh eating bacteria, or even a cold

#6 – many many friends came on a Tuesday night (their actual birthday) for two short hours after which they all happily receded to their points of origin where it is assumed they came down from being over-sugared and over-stimulated for the subsequent 2 hours.

#7 – a sweet teenager, in an apparent daily re-affirmation to stay in school, led them in song, dance, cut the cake, offered me booze (which I declined b/c I wasn’t stressed. See items 1-6) and hauled away all of the trash both food and present related.


Holy crap!! I’m never hosting another party in my life!! Who wants Christmas at Bounce Magic??

My true high point was not the bliss on their faces or the ease of the event. Like the boys, it was the presents. Not all of them. Just one.

The favorite came from my favorite little friends and the very favorite girl that they know. She is the sweetest little thing with giant saucer eyes who loves butterflies. She can also light saber duel and can burp the ABCs. Clearly this is why my boys lurve her!

The boys were unwrapping presents when the following conversation transpired:

Precious Cherub: I made boys a present.

Me: oh how sweet!

Precious Cherub: I only had time to make one. So they have to share it.

Me: I’m sure they will. They are good sharers.

PC: do you want to know what it is?

Me: sure.

PC: I made boys a knife.

Me: (insert spit take) a what?

PC: I made boys a knife. It took a while to get it sharp. Then I tested it on my brother. I’m going to make sure they open it.

This sweet little darling made my children a shank! She sharpened a rock, apparently for days, her very nice (and normal) mom told me, when checking to be sure that I had “seen” it. And if “seeing” it meant slipping the shank to my sister, my uber-wing man, who did not need anything more than the right look to back me up, than I did that.

Seriously though, if you are going to give someone a weapon, keep the fight fair. Make two. Or give a belated gift if time doesn’t allow. But one shank, I call a flag on the play.


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