I am a good Mom. A great Mom. And you better believe I will be singing my praises to my kids for years to come. But there are some things I lack. Hosting for instance. I am not a good host. I am a fabulous planner and organizer, but my number one favorite thing to do after that is delegate. I come up with an idea, you do all the work, I get the credit which I then share with you. I'm a huge fan.
So imagine my surprise when I find a telephone number in M's backpack that was written by a child. I asked who wrote it and she happily explained she had told her friend at school about the Christmas party we were having and had written the number to be able to call and invite her to it.
This was my outward response, "Oh really? That sounds like fun."
This was my inward response, "What Christmas party?! You did what?! Are you kidding me?! How did you know to write her phone number?! Now what?! OH NO! Maybe she'll forget. This is something I can't delegate!"
I let it stew for a few days hoping all would blow over, but it didn't. M got more and more excited and talked of her Christmas party all day long. So with a bowed head and sagging shoulders I put together my very first Christmas shindig. After long deliberation we invited all the girls in her Kindergarten class. The more the merrier. Plus I don't plan on doing this very often. Might as well go all the way.
We invited them to come over an hour and a half before school. We even passed out handmade invites. We played games, had lunch, tried a craft (not a success), and then they ran around in the basement screaming like little school girls.
For the record, I can handle huge family meetings with irate individuals and intense social situations involving homicide, suicide, and traumas at work with steely ease, but this piddly little party had me in knots for weeks. M loved it and that's why I did it. And you know what, I love her so much I might throw another party someday. But, please don't tell her I said that. I need to breathe.
So imagine my surprise when I find a telephone number in M's backpack that was written by a child. I asked who wrote it and she happily explained she had told her friend at school about the Christmas party we were having and had written the number to be able to call and invite her to it.
This was my outward response, "Oh really? That sounds like fun."
This was my inward response, "What Christmas party?! You did what?! Are you kidding me?! How did you know to write her phone number?! Now what?! OH NO! Maybe she'll forget. This is something I can't delegate!"
I let it stew for a few days hoping all would blow over, but it didn't. M got more and more excited and talked of her Christmas party all day long. So with a bowed head and sagging shoulders I put together my very first Christmas shindig. After long deliberation we invited all the girls in her Kindergarten class. The more the merrier. Plus I don't plan on doing this very often. Might as well go all the way.
We invited them to come over an hour and a half before school. We even passed out handmade invites. We played games, had lunch, tried a craft (not a success), and then they ran around in the basement screaming like little school girls.
M came up with this game. It was called Christmas tree, Christmas tree, Christmas tree...ORNAMENT! It was played exactly like Duck, Duck, Goose.
My friend, whose daughter is in M's class, came to help with my boys. Thank you!!
Lunch is served. There were some picky eaters. I told the kids whoever ate the most fruits and vegetables won M&M's. Hey. I'm not above bribing children. Another fun food moment was when the kids wanted to know what the yellow vegetable was. It was a rainbow carrot and I told them it changed colors in their tummies. I didn't tell them what color...
Watching M interact with the other girls was a treat. She is growing up so fast.
The failed Christmas tree craft. You win some. You lose some.
The festive party favors.
For the record, I can handle huge family meetings with irate individuals and intense social situations involving homicide, suicide, and traumas at work with steely ease, but this piddly little party had me in knots for weeks. M loved it and that's why I did it. And you know what, I love her so much I might throw another party someday. But, please don't tell her I said that. I need to breathe.
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