As I type, there is mayhem going on in the basement. It's Rebecca's 12th birthday, and there are nine pre-adolescent girls in the house. The noise would make a pack of shrieking hyenas sound like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. I would care, except that I am heavily sedated.
Well, no, just kidding. Actually I took one Klonopin about an hour ago and all I can say is: thank GOD for Big Pharma.
And yet, today has gone--knock on wood--fairly smoothly. I arranged a playdate for Suzanne to get her out of the house, and got her there on time. I laid out a scavenger hunt for the 'tweens a couple of days ago, and it was a big hit. I made four dozen cupcakes, and then I made icing for them, and the girls had a blast decorating them all. I set them up doing charades. I de-fused one meltdown on Rebecca's part (there will be more, I know) and then I ordered pizza BEFORE the munchies hit, so that it arrived more or less on time. I burned a CD so they'd have music. I produced an icebag for one guest who hit her head on a stairway bannister, and ascertained that she was not seeing double. I rescued the cat, who was having a nervous breakdown with all the ruckus, and put her in my office.
I have, in addition to all this, loaded the dishwasher and done one load of laundry today, filed an insurance clai, wrote a condolence note to a friend, and cleaned up the dining room after the cupcake decorating. AND, on top of that, I lined up a babysitter, so that David and I have a date night tonight and the babysitter will have to deal with the emotional detrius of today's party while we are out having a civilized conversation and enjoying the thrill of finishing a sentence.
It is now 4:44 p.m. and the party has 45 minutes to go. The finish line is in sight and for once, I am going to congratulate myself on having pulled all of this off (with assistance from The Hubster, who ran emergency errands for sodas and chips, and helped with a computer problem). As anyone who is a parent knows, getting through a day like this unscathed is like serving an ace at Wimbledon. BOO-YAH!!!
And, while I'm at it, I'm thinking of the old boyfriend who, years and years ago, left me--a single woman at that time--in charge of his daughter's eight-year-old birthday party (six eight-year-olds in one house on a Saturday afternoon, with no food and no Plan) and then said, "Oops--got some work to do at the office." Not only was he a sexist pig, he was a WIMP. But, as they say, living well is the best revenge....and life does not get much better than this.