My kids love to party. Very often they'll come streaking into the kitchen and jitter excitedly. "Mom! Come look what we made for you! It's a party!" I'll trepidatiously enter the living room to discover an enormous nest carefully designed from pillows, comforters, stuffed animals, toy trains, and crumbs from an indistinguishable origin. The kids will watch my face expectantly and as I reveal true joy (they believe from their engineering genius, more accurately from the fact that the nest doesn't also include Silly Putty, blood, or green crayon smeared on anything) they jump up and down and shout happily and ask me to turn on music so they can be properly enthused. A wild rumpus ensues, we end up making an unexpected dessert, you know...
So when I came home from an appointment to find the kids hard at work on what they told me was my Mother's Day surprise party, I wasn't too shocked. I was touched by their thoughtfulness and their creativity in putting the lessons they've seen on Curious George to real life. Plus, the fact that this Mother's Day celebration was happening only two days after New Years' Eve was of no concern. I mentioned it to Judsen and he said, "No, Mom. We're just pretending it's Mother's Day. We're just practicing."
I watched them at the craft table, cutting newspaper, mixing water, glue, and blue paint into one of my new Tupperware bowls (which they found after opening every single door, drawer, and cupboard in the kitchen. Yes, of course, they left all the doors ajar and in perfect head-knocking position. Why not?), and then placing it carefully over an old box full of ancient Halloween candy. While they completed their task, Judsen issued instructions to me. "Mom, could you make us some coconut cake and dinner and treats and hot chocolate for your party? You're going to be so surprised!" Yes, it was starting to feel like Mother's Day already.
When they were finished, they were eager to whack apart the soggy cardboard immediately, but we encouraged them to be patient. In search of other activities, they wandered into the living room where Felicity had been apparently storing her in-case-of-emergency toy. There, sitting on the couch, in all its splendor was a lidless, used pregnancy test. I was horrified. "Felicity! Why is that there? That is not a toy! That is a stick for mommies to pee on!" She scurried to throw it away, sweetly apologizing, which made me feel a little sorry about my abrupt reaction to her, until I realized the reason the test had been lidless was because she was chewing on the cap! Oh brother.
I ran to the bathroom for an escape, but the kids, apparently finding no joy in the living room, decided to come with me to see if I had any better options. So I'm using the throne and JJ starts to sort through the trash potpourri. Felicity stands on the ledge of the tub, all wrapped up in the shower curtain, singing and pretending to be Mildew Batman, I guess. In an effort to commit fully to her character, she lifts her legs and twirls around, again supported by the shower curtain, until the effort brings the bar, curtain, and child crashing to the ground. She, understandably, begins freaking out and looking for comfort, so I hold her on my lap. Glad this isn't awkward. I hurry and get finished and rush to get some ice for Felicity's bruised face, and JJ, not to be forgotten, comes after us, leading the roll of toilet paper behind her and into the hall like she's the Pied Piper of Hamelin.
Dinner seems like a good idea at this point, so I quickly make enchiladas. It is while my hands and forearms are smothered in chicken shards and red sauce that JJ comes sauntering in, doing a striptease and showing us her new skill of removing her own diaper. Here we recall that she is only 12 months and a couple seconds old; she should not have mastered sticky tape yet. So my little nudist wanders around the kitchen to cheers and giggles from her brother and sister while I scream for Josh (who cannot come because he has locked himself away trying to complete an important business phone call) and try to clean my hands off enough to contain her.
We then eat, which works out pretty well for most of us, but Judsen begins crying inconsolably at the terror of consuming tortillas and cheese. Oh boy. Happy Mother's Day, indeed. I help him calm down (for which he sweetly tells me, "Mom, thanks for helping me feel happy." Melted my heart.), finish his dinner, and we all decide that bed would be the best destination. We get the kids in their pajamas and teeth-brushing ensues, only Felicity picks up her turn for tears when Josh will not let her use her toothbrush to remove the hairspray I found crusted in her ear.
I had hoped that after a night of rest, all might calm down some, (I can't say return to normal; we've met often enough for you to know what "normal" at my house is.) but they all popped their heads off their pillows ready to bring on Day 2 of the Mother's celebration. Judsen insists that we smash the pinata before breakfast because "on Curious George, Marco's mom hits the pinata and then they eat". This doesn't quite work out, because his sisters insist on being fed first. As I'm trying to prepare the meal, we discover Felicity's bar stool is missing and the kids go on a search for it. Felicity finds it in the office, holding up part of the audience Judsen had gathered for the pinata-smashing. Sitting in a ragged circle are a stuffed bear, Dora's backpack, some dirty towels, and in the place of honor on Felicity's stool is a Halloween pumpkin with an upturned bucket for a hat. Judsen gets very offended that we would try to remove the stool or its guest. "Mom, we can't move it. All the water will spill out." "It's full of water??" He looks at me like why can't I get a clue, of course we fill plastic pumpkins with water before we set them in the middle of the office in order to witness a practice Mother's Day pinata party, held on, of all days, a snowy day in January.
Holy moly. So, Pumpkin gets cleaned out and we decide it would be best to get on with the pinata event before anything else happens. The kids cheer when I break open the box (held up with duct tape on a plastic pole) with a few swings and Judsen declares it was so fun and he loves me and Happy Mother's Day. I sit the kids down to eat finally, Felicity promptly dumps all her hot chocolate out on the counter then gives me puppy dog eyes, "Sorry, Mommy, " so I can't even be frustrated with her, and that's where I left them so I could come write this. And now as I look behind me, all three have followed me in here and are demolishing a block of Styrofoam with butter knives and their bare hands. JJ is sitting on an old, half-chewed Baby Ruth and all three desperately need a shower. So I guess I better go. There are many more adventures and Mother's Day parties awaiting. The kids are delirious with happiness that we get to do all this again in just four short months. And what the heck. I'm happy, too.
PS I'm editing this post while the kids are in the shower. I'm nearby so I can check on them, but JJ still snuck out to stand behind me naked, grinning while she poops on the floor. I sprint over to pick it up, asking her why the poop nugget. Judsen immediately picks up on this new, hilarious phrase and is now walking around the house singing, "Poop nugget! Poop bugget! Poop nugget! Poop lugget!" And now we're discussing ninjas and their wardrobe choices in depth while the girls sit on the carpet, eating an entire loaf of bread by the handful. Awesome. Happy Mother's Day.
