Scenes from a birthday party...

I know myself well enough to know that I don't have the emotional fortitude needed to plan an outdoor event. I don't do well with uncertainty, and since weather is nothing BUT uncertainty, I know that I need to plan all of my parties for indoor spaces. I need to have control of every detail or else I will do nothing but fret about what I don't have control over.

I know this about myself. And yet...guess who didn't let this knowledge stop her from planning a fifth birthday party at a farm where the only shelter was a roof large enough to cover six picnic tables in the middle of a field? And guess who did this planning for the middle of October, which can either be 80 degrees and hot or 50 degrees and raining?

Yes, that would be me.

In the two weeks leading up to Brigid's outdoor party, it rained significantly almost every day. I checked the weather EVERY SINGLE DAY in those two weeks, hoping that the day of the party would have a magically dry day, in the midst of our monsoon season. For the last two days, I checked the weather once an hour, hoping for a change.

It, uh, didn't change. We were guaranteed to have rain on the day of the party.

The morning of the party, Steve was relatively convinced that it would stop raining in time for the party in the afternoon, but I couldn't relax enough to think he might be right. So, I spent all morning texting everyone to tell them we might be moving the party to our house. I spent all morning cleaning the house for the potential move. Steve went shopping for party games and face painting supplies since I was convinced I wouldn't have the farm activities I'd planned to have to entertain the kids. We both checked the weather every five minutes. It finally seemed like things were clearing up right around party time, so we made the last minute decision to have the party at the farm.

And then we got to the farm, and it started raining harder. I was...not pleasant to be around at that moment, I'd imagine.

It did finally clear up, and I think that the party was a relative success. There was a petting zoo and a playground, some bouncy houses and a corn crib. Brigid got to run around with her friends, and everyone got cake and a whack at a pinata. And I only took about 6 years off of my life worrying about the rain.

Next year? I'm taking everyone bowling.

(Thanks, as always, to my brother-in-law, Greg, for taking better pictures of the event than I could ever hope to...)

Five

Brigid turned five this week, and I think someone is playing a cruel trick on me, because there is no way it's been five years since this beautiful little girl was born.

She makes me happier than I ever thought I could be, while simultaneously driving me crazier than I ever thought possible. She is stubborn, she gets ridiculously crabby when she's tired, she overreacts to the slightest thing that might mean she's not getting exactly what she wants. But she is also the greatest big sister there is, helping me with Caitlin's diapers and baths, holding her hand in the car whenever Caitlin starts fussing, and entertaining her in her crib when I can't get to her the minute she wakes up. She loves to cuddle. She is so happy when Steve gets home from work, I can actually see her vibrating with excitement. Her teachers tell me she's one of the sweetest kids in the class.

Apparently, there is a 'clique' of girls in her class that Brigid is a part of, but she manages to 'stay above the drama', so that's nice. I'm a little worried about the fact that there's already drama to be dealt with in pre-k, but at least she's staying out of it so far?

She is funny. She loves to dance. Her newest favorite movie is Isabelle Dances into the Spotlight, and she spends an hour after each viewing, running around the house and imitating the choreography from it. You should see her double pirouettes. She's remarkably proud of them.

Elsa is her favorite princess in the world, and she knows every word to every song on the Frozen soundtrack. She wants to go back to Disney as soon as possible; today, actually, if we can make it happen. She's a picky eater. She adores the ten-year old girls that live next door, following them around for as long as they tolerate her. She want's nothing more than to play with all of her friends in the neighborhood everyday. She still tells me how happy she is that I am home with her every morning, even a few months into it. She fights us on bedtime EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT. which is awful. She would eat nothing but sugar if I let her.

She loves Hello Kitty, which I don't understand, but I imagine there's going to be a lot of that happening in the coming years, so I just go with it.

I asked her if she wouldn't mind staying four for another year, instead of turning five, and she told me, "Mommy, I don't think it works that way. But you can PRETEND I'm your baby forever, if you want."

 I think I'll do just that, kid.

I love you more than anything else, and I hope you will always know that, everyday of your life.

 

Happy birthday, Bug.

Happy (belated) Birthday, Steve!

Well, Steve's birthday was this past Monday, and like the worst wife ever (or maybe the BEST WIFE EVER!!!!, depending on how you want to look at it...), I am making the poor guy go pick out his own birthday present. I mean, I know generally what he wants, and I intend to get him that, but I don't know the details. He's getting a Nespresso machine, because what my already generally goofy husband needs is easy access to as many shots of espresso as his little heart desires, but who am I to come between a man and his caffeine habit, you know?

But, well, there are different sizes and colors and features and whatnot, and I want to make sure he gets the exact one he wants, so...yeah. Nothing like passing the buck on a birthday present to make you feel like the greatest gift giver in the world.

Lest you think we didn't celebrate the poor guy on the 34th anniversary of his birth at all, FEAR NOT! Brigid provided him with a hat that she's held on to ever since her 3rd birthday celebration at her old preschool. This thing is over a year old AND survived a move, so I think it's safe to say that this hat has earned the right to be worn for every birthday we have for as long as it wants to stay with us.

And I did offer to stick a candle into one of the oatmeal creme pies from the box I bought him to keep all to himself, which I think is very generous of me. Plus...

...chocolate in the shape of a beer mug. How can you go wrong with chocolate in the shape of a beer mug!

(Brigid's take: Chocolate beer! Mommy, daddy is getting chocolate beer! Does it taste like beer, mommy? No? It just tastes like chocolate? THEN HE CAN SHARE WITH ME! 

I'd say she approved of the gift.)

Happy birthday, honey! We love you...and stuff :)

Caitlin's First Birthday

Caitlin turned one year old last Friday.

I don't even know how that happened. How in the world can it be possible that my sweet little peanut of a baby has been with us for a year now? It seems like just yesterday that I was telling Steve to put the hot dog back in the fridge, because even if I was momentarily frozen in pain from a contraction, my need to get to the hospital was a little deeper than his need to grab some dinner on the way out the door.

(Poor guy...he is NEVER going to live that one down, I swear.)

And yet, here we are. From this...

...to this...

...in twelve short months.

My rough-housing, trouble-making, general stinker of a baby is kind of closing in on that non-baby status that I think I'm just going to completely ignore this time around.

She shows no inclination to walk, which is actually a good thing for her, because the way she throws herself around and into things anyway, she doesn't need any added height to her falls. The four bruises on her forehead at this particular moment stand in testament to that, so I am perfectly content to stick with the crawling for right now. Even if that crawling tends to be in the direction of the dogs' food and water bowls the minute she can make a break for it, we'll deal with it. It has to be better than a bleeding baby, you know? We'll make it work.

She throws herself out of my arms if Brigid makes an appearance in the room, trying like crazy to get to her sister, because big sisters are just the greatest thing, ever. Let's just hope she still feels that way when she's old enough to look back at pictures of the respective first birthday parties that we threw the girls, because Brigid's Sesame Street themed birthday party, complete with hats and decorations and a detailed Elmo cake AND awesome Cookie Monster cupcakes on the side completely blew away Caitlin's 'hey, we're making a pineapple upside down cake for Thanksgiving, let's just stick a candle in it and call it a day' themed birthday party.

I mean, not that she minded, because sugar is sugar, but...still. I feel bad about it.

(I SWEAR the birthday dud was not because Caitlin is the 2nd child. Honestly. It's just...we're moving. And we were supposed to be settled by now, but we're not. And I couldn't begin to tell you what box holds Steve's Elmo cake pan. So. Pineapple upside down cake, from a bowl, on the floor. It is what it is...)

Caitlin is just special. Her dimpled smile, her excitement at seeing someone she loves walk into the room, the way she looks back to me or Steve for approval when she sees something that makes her happy or sad or nervous, the way she tries to kiss her distorted image in the front facing of the dishwasher, but refuses to give me kisses when I ask for them...she is a rotten little stinkbug, but she just fills my heart with happiness, every day.

She is such a happy baby, except when she's not. Then she is the ANGRIEST baby I have ever seen. It would be impressive, if that anger weren't directed at me at 2AM, when I've been trying to get her back to sleep for two hours already, and OMG BABY, JUST GO TO SLEEP ALREADY.

This is...new...for us. I mean, I don't want to compare babies or anything, but someone whose name starts with a 'B' and ends with a 'rigid' was the magical sleeping baby, and while Caitlin isn't the worst sleeper out there, nobody would consider her a 'good' sleeper, unless THEY had the worst sleeper out there.

And yet, sometimes, when the house is quiet in the middle of the night, and she's asleep in my arms, there are no words to describe how happy I am. I love this baby with all of my heart.

(Other times, when the house is quiet in the middle of the night, and she is screaming while I try to rock her back to sleep, I am not so happy. But you take the good with the bad. Or some such something like that...)

She is going to be the toddler that pulls the Christmas tree over on top of herself, or breaks my favorite vase, or, if we weren't trying to move to a different house, throws herself off of the 2nd floor catwalk onto the couch below. She will be the one that causes me all of the physical, dare-devil, bull-in-a-china shop kind of problems, with Brigid handling the sassypants attitude, too-smart-for-her-own-good side of things.

I should be worried about what's in store for me with these two. And, hooooooo buddy, I am. But also? I kind of can't wait. There's not a dull moment in store for me anytime in the near future.

Happy birthday, sweet pea. Thank you for being part of my life. I couldn't imagine having things any other way...

The Pink Party

Between work, Caitlin, and the stress of trying to sell our house/buy a new one, I feel like I kind of mailed in Brigid's birthday party this year. For her earlier parties (you know, the ones she didn't even CARE about because she was just a baby...), I started planning months in advance. I'd Pinterest the heck out of whatever theme I'd decided on for the event, and we'd lay out elaborate plans for decorations and menu options.

Case in point: I still have an entire stack of Krystal cups in my pantry from Brigid's second birthday party, when Steve decided we should do a hot dog bar. We picked up so many hot dogs and buns from the place, they outfitted us with enough dinnerware to last us two years, apparently. All of this, for a party of about 10 people. 

This year? I was tired. When Brigid told me she wanted a 'pink' themed party, I figured it could plan itself. And then I almost forgot to call and book a place to have it, which would have ruined everything, obviously. BUT! Someone was watching out for me, because when I called this place to ask them if the location five minutes away from my house had anything, at any time, in the weekend less than two weeks from that date, I could hear the suppressed laughter in the voice of the lady I was talking to, which was immediately followed by complete surprise when she did, in fact, have an opening in that weekend.

We went to Party City on Friday to buy everything pink that they had. Steve made the cake on Saturday. We picked up pizzas and snacks on Sunday on the way to the party. And that was that.

Brigid had a great time running around with some of her friends for an hour and a half, I didn't have to clean my house before or after having people over, and I got to reuse the pink banner I'd bought for Brigid's birthday last year, because I am a genius for not just throwing it out after the ballerina princess party of age three.

(Brigid would not stop talking about how excited she was to get on the balance beam at this place. She'd been 'practicing' for weeks on the raised part of our fireplace. She's got good form, that kid. I may have to look into gymnastics lessons for her sometime soon...)

(OH! And when she blew out her candles, she wished, again, that mommy could stay home with her every day forever and ever. So. I need to keep working on that.)

Well, that didn't go quite as planned...

Steve decided earlier this year that Brigid was finally old enough to appreciate a trip to Disney World, and he's been planning the big vacation in secret (from her, anyway...that is way too much for him to plan in secret from me) ever since. And, he (well, he/we) decided that we'd make the big announcement about the upcoming trip to Brigid on her birthday.

So. We took Brigid out to a special birthday dinner at the restaurant of her choice (it's not my fault that the restaurant of her choice happened to be the same one we eat at about once a week), let her open a small range of Disney themed presents, then set her up for the surprise.

'Brigid, you know how we've been talking about taking a trip to Disney World sometime soon? Well, for your birthday, WE'RE TAKING YOU TO DISNEY IN A FEW WEEKS!!'

Nothing.

'Brigid. Disney? You get to meet all of the princesses? Are you excited?'

Nothing. And then...

'Are there any more presents for me to open?'

And the moral of the story is? Brigid won't be on a Disney commercial celebrating her upcoming trip anytime soon, because if it's not something she can unwrap, it's not really a gift that she can fully grasp, apparently.

(Also? She's four. I am not surprised, in the least.)

Four

In four short years, we've gone from this...

...to this...

...to this...

...to this...

...to this.

This kid. She is rotten and overly dramatic and sassy as hell. She fights with me when I ask her to do something that she doesn't want to do. She tells me she doesn't want to clean up her messes because it will be 'too hard' for her to do by herself, even though she had no problem making the mess all on her own. She asks for things over and over again, even after I tell her no. 'Trust me, mommy, I really want a treat!' she'll tell me, not quite getting that I don't doubt she wants whatever it is that she's asking for, but this still doesn't mean she's going to get it. She won't share her toys with her sister. 'This is really super tiny, mommy, I should probably keep it away from Baby Caitlin,' she'll say sweetly, completely disregarding the fact that she was playing with the exact same toy at the exact same age, no matter what I've told her. She ends up in more time-outs than I'd care to admit, following complete meltdowns after I've told her something as mean as 'no, you CAN'T have dinner right now because I haven't made dinner, yet, so you'll have to wait until it is finished. Also, it is only 4PM. Why didn't you eat lunch, you fool?'

I am really very terrible, obviously.

But she also tells me she loves me, completely unprompted. She throws herself into my arms when she's incredibly excited to see me and gives me the biggest bear-hug she can muster. She's named her scooter 'Pasta' because that's what she was eating at the time she was trying to name it. 'I'm going to go ride Pasta, ok mommy?' She gets the biggest, brightest smile on her face when she sees her baby sister in the morning. She talks about all of her friends from school, about the 'new Mia' in her class, which is a different Mia than the 'Mia from her old class'. She loves the new Mia, apparently. She also loves her next-door neighbor Bennett, but for the record, she doesn't want to move in with him anymore because she would miss her mommy and daddy.

She likes to feed the dogs, and help me empty out the dishwasher, and pair her clean socks to be put away. She wants to read to her sister before bed. She loves to find leaves when she's outside to bring back into the house to give to Steve and I. I have a plastic bracelet that I wear every day because she told me to put it on and 'keep it forever and ever.' Who am I to argue with that?

She helps me pick out my lipstick in the morning when I'm getting ready for work. Her preference runs along the pink and shiny side of the spectrum, but I can get a little red out of her every once in awhile.

She is smart and sweet and thoughtful and stubborn and funny and better than anything I could have ever imagined having in my life. She is my Brigid, my favorite Brigid in the whole wide world, and I love her with all of my heart, and then some.

Happy birthday, sweet pea. Thank you for being you.