After the first of the year I got this idea in my head that I should throw myself a birthday party. Growing old does crazy things to your mind. 36 is an important year. I no longer consider myself on the cute, young scale of a thirty year-old...I'm now pushing 40. I know, four more years of pushing but still. Damn.
So what better way to take the sting out of growing older than to have a party?
Sure, tradition calls for a loved one to throw the party for you but come on...if you want a party, is there a law that says you can't throw it for yourself? But I was still unsure. What if it cost alot of money? What if I end up having to do all the work myself? What if no one came? What if too many people came--how would I be able to feed them all and fit them in my house? And the last and final question. How on earth would we be able to do something with my backyard, which my immediate family and friends have nicknamed, "Hurricane Katrina"--debris and trash and scroungy animals included. Yeh, it's not the greenest, most fabulously landscaped place to have a party. One could sprain an ankle in the holes that my stupid dog furiously digs up. So this conundrum made me falter on the whole party idea.
But my dear husband assured me we could get it done. And my dear friends and family members insisted that they would help. And my dear homie Ricardo agreed to DJ for me. Everything should fall into place, right? How hard could it be? Make some food. Buy some drinks. Get a few tables. Buy a cake. Dance to some music. Sounds like fun.
So I fearlessly made up an evite and sent it out with the sweet request of no chil'rens. That was a tough one. But after realizing that my friends sure do like to procreate and there would be over 48 children in attendance (mine not included), it seemed to make sense to request that it be an "adults only" crowd. Personally, I am so not put off when I get invitations like this. I am more than happy to part with the chil'rens for a few hours. This would make the night even more manageable, since I wouldn't have to worry about a bunch of kids unattended, eating all the food and stopping up the toilet. But more than that, I just wanted to have fun with my friends and family without the mommy and daddy worries.
Well, we are now in the home stretch for this whole party idea. It's coming up this weekend and I still have about a hundred and one things to do. And then I got sick. And then the kids got sick. But then the stress of it all made me suck it up and keep doing all the things I had to do...and then I got a relapse. I spent the better part of today hacking my lungs out, alternately shivering and sweating and feeling like a gang of midgets were kicking my head. No, this can't be happening! I have so much to do! I've been trying so very hard not to get all freaked out and stressed by all the details (because I am so not a detail-oriented person--six chil'rens will do that to a person) that have to happen to make this party civilized and not completely ghetto fabulous.
Does it matter that I won't have time to wash all my curtains? Or wash my sofa cushions? Or scrub my cabinets? Dust all my furniture? Organize the kids toys? Catalog all their books? I mean, I am killing myself to give the impression that no children live here and it is always immaculate. And that just ain't true. So as I laid on my sofa while my husband and his family worked on my yard, I pondered these simple facts.
As long as my loved ones are here and we are having fun, that is what matters. As long as I get to spend time with the people I cherish most, that is what matters. As long as everyone gets something warm and tasty to eat, that is what matters. As long as it's a peaceful event, that is what matters. As long as I get alot of gift cards, that is what matters.
So despite all the craziness that is my life, I am excited about Saturday. I can't wait to get all my frustrations out on the dance floor. I can't wait to have some fun.