Loving Someone Means That Sometimes You Have to Lego

J turned 5 this last week.  I mentioned in my last post how I can get out of hand with my party planning, but what I didn't mention is how every time I plan a party, everytime, I turn into a lunatic.  (Actually, I think I went into some detail about this last fall, when I wrote about Mr.C's surprise 40th birthday party).  This time however, I thought I was doing okay.  I had decorations bought, lists made, jobs delegated, and up to an hour before the party I still hadn't snapped at any family members or bared fangs.  But then 40 minutes before guests were due to arrive, cupcakes were still unfrosted, the food hadn't been organized, the kitchen hadn't been cleaned, and I hadn't showered yet.  Mr. C was wandering around with a rag wiping down the walls.

In hindsight, yes this was helpful.... but I believe Mr. C was was deep in the trenches of what's known as man thinking. Swiping walls when there was obviously more important, pressing things to do?  Nor was I in my right mind, because the next thing I knew the lid blew off the can of my own brand of crazy and I was hysterically shrieking "WE ARE SCREWED!!!!!  SCREWWWWED!"

Mr. C looked at me standing there panting, bug eyed, with frosting in my hair and he started to laugh.  I immediately felt embarrassed, because even for me, that was a bit dramatic.  I shook my head and mumbled "I know.  I know." Then I threw down my towel and decided that a shower would be a good way to center myself.

In my (5 minute) shower, I reminded myself that this was not an Iron Chef competition.  This was my family and friends coming to my home to celebrate my son's 5 years on this planet.  I reminded myself that I was doing this for J, because he's been counting down his birthday for the past 35 days, because he's the middle kid who often gets gypped, because 5 is officially "big kid" territory and I want to make this birthday memorable, and because when he smiles, it shows in his eyes too.  I wanted to make him smile.

I got out of the shower to find that Mr. C had cleaned up the kitchen and put out the decorations.  (Man thinking aside, I really do have the best husband in the world).  I ended up decorating the cupcakes while guests were arriving, but that was no big deal.  The food got organized and placed out.

Can we just take a moment to recognize the food labels, set in special Jedi font, glued onto black card stock, and decorated with gold and silver star stickers?  That's Wookie Cookies, Muja Fruit, Patawan Popcorn, Darth Dogs, and my personal favorite, Ewoks- which were really gummy bears.  We also ordered "Pizza the Hut".

I'm sick, and I'm aware of it.

Actually, J did not really care about the food labels- no surprise there.  He was there to enjoy the swimming:

present time:

and the goodies. (By the way, those are supposed to look like Lego block heads.  I think I'm going to give up trying to jump on the cake pop wagon.) 

He did think the Lego letter J that his big brother created was pretty cool:

but mostly he was all about cake time and blowing out the candles.

It was during that time, with the lights dimmed and me standing next to him while our family and friends gathered around singing Happy Birthday that it became crystal clear exactly why I got crazy about this particular party.  It's because he's getting big fast, this little boy of mine.  He doesn't even let me give him kisses in public anymore.  In fact, he rarely allows me to kiss or hug him at all.  I know that's normal, that is what little boys do.  But it's hard for me, his mom.  I'm used to  spontaneously giving squeezes and kisses whenever the moment strikes me. And now I'm forced to find other ways to demonstrate my affection.  So I read stories to him and enjoy sitting close.  Or I listen and laugh at his silly jokes.  Or I just sit back and observe him in his play, marveling at his imagination.

 
And I assemble 100 pieces of Lego's out of fondant, and I make stupid Star War food labels, and I freak out  when it's unsure if it's all going to come together.

And for that face, I would do it a thousand times over.

Happy Birthday, J!  Your the Chewbacca to my Hans Solo, the R2D2 to my C3PO, the...... I don't know.    Mom's not so good with the Star Wars metaphors. Sorry.  Just know that I love you.

Good night!