The Cheese Stands Alone

I did a bad thing this morning. We never got the mail yesterday (it was 15°F yesterday, I was deep in the throes of designing the program for my concert this coming Saturday, and I was getting ready to take Thing 2 to the doctor--yes, I know, excuses, excuses). So, I stopped and picked it up on the way back from the bus stop this morning. In there was a letter addressed to my five year old from one of his classmates.

Now, my five year old's mail falls into only a few categories:

1. cards from grandparents
2. National Geographic Little Kids magazine
3. thank you notes from birthday parties already attended
4. birthday party invitations

Based on forensic evidence, I determined that this must be a Category 4 missive. With the holidays coming up, and knowing that he was very put out the last time we had to decline an invitation, I opened the letter to get an advance peek at what was inside. Analysis proved to be sound, and I, with much dread, opened an invitation to a Chuck E. Cheese party, the second one from one of his classmates this school year.

Now, as you must know by now, I have two older children. During the past twelve years, eight of which have led me through prime whole-class birthday party territory, we have only ever once been invited to Chuck E. Cheese. When the kindergartener was invited to a party there last month, I figured that, based on the law of averages (and the fact that CEC is about 40 minutes away from our town), this would be the only CEC party he ever got invited to, so we accepted and went. He was gleeful and had a wonderful time, and I gambled (in CEC's glorified slot machines) with his coins and got him prize tickets. That said, it was packed, the parents are stuck there but are not fed anything or even given drinks for two hours (not that I couldn't take care of that myself, and, hey, at least they serve Coca Cola products!), and the birthday girl sat at the table the whole time, looking shocked and not even playing with the other kids. Really, the place was nutso.

So, while all clues pointed to the fact that I'd be opening a birthday party invitation, I was not expecting yet another one to CEC. Eek! Really, I don't consider myself to be a mean mom. I take my kids to these parent-accompanied parties as much as our schedule allows. But WHY can't we have something else scheduled during this one? The idea of driving to CEC, forty minutes away, through holiday shopping territory, and making my way through the mall parking lot in which it is located, on the Saturday before Christmas, and THEN having to actually spend two hours in CEC, just does not float my boat. It makes me wonder if these people scheduled it at that time in the hopes that no one would come (yes, I'm in an evil mood today).

Luckily, I have reasonable children. So, I'll tell him about the party (I don't like to hide this stuff from the kids--it'll just come back and bite me in the butt later), but we planned to go to Mystic Aquarium (at HIS request) that weekend, and, guess what? That trip is now scheduled for the Saturday before Christmas, at the same time as the birthday party. Darn the luck!

And that's my silver lining for today.

A Turkey For You, And a Turkey for Me

Well, I've come out of my turkey coma (there should be a new holiday song: The Five Days of Turkey), and I guess I need to get writing again.

I did a different thing this year. Almost every year, my husband's family comes here for Thanksgiving (my own family sticks close to Pennsylvania, because Thanksgiving there is merely a preparation for the real holiday: The First Day of Deer Season). In years past, the imminent arrival of the inlaws and outlaws has inspired me to do strange and unusual things. Paint rooms. Redecorate the bathroom. Remove the handles from the sinks and soak them in Oxyclean before reinstalling them. Clean the dryer vent. Run around with touch-up paint and a roller brush "erasing" the marks from the walls. Scrub the toilets with a toothbrush (an old one, not my husband's). Climb on the kitchen counter and clean the tops of the cabinets (you know, because my mother-in-law MIGHT just look up there).

Last year my brother-in-law brought his girlfriend to meet us for the first time. While I've slacked off a bit over the years on pre-mother-in-law preparations, I kind of went wacko, scrubbing and cleaning and making things white and purty again (our well water, as lovely tasting as it is, has this wee rust issue). Then they all got here and spent the week discussing the evils of cleaning products to the environment. I was not amused.

This year, I decided that "Good enough for government work" was my mantra. So, I did clean up. I dusted, I vacuumed, I mopped. All at once, not the slap-dash way I normally do it (that was what was nice about having a cleaning service back in the day--coming home to a house that was ALL CLEAN AT THE SAME TIME). I made the family put away their detritus. I changed the sheets. It was all good. But, instead of rabid toothbrush-and-paint-roller wielding, I spent the pre-visitor prep time prepping what people really want at Thanksgiving: the food.

The end result was that I was not exhausted before it all even started; I had half of Thanksgiving dinner already made when I woke up on T-Day morning; and I got to relax a bit instead of pulling a four-course meal out of my you-know-what. It was good enough, everyone seemed just as happy as they always do, and I got to join in the fun instead of either watching from the sidelines or falling asleep before it started.

And that's my silver lining for today.