2013 Goal Review: Why Do I Bother?

Posted on December 31, 2013 by Mo @ The Baby Is Fine

In a strange fit of optimism and productivity at the end of last year (perhaps I was drugged?), I made a list of ten things I wanted to accomplish in 2013. They weren’t resolutions, per se, as I am perfect and wonderful and need not resolve to be anything more, but they were worthy goals nonetheless. None were too lofty and I was certain I’d have no trouble checking each one off the ol’ to-do list by, oh, June or so. Easy peasy!

Let’s see how I really did:

10) Make the poor kid a baby book.

RESULT: FAIL (technically)

Technically, I did not do this. BUT! I do make an annual family scrapbook documenting all of the year’s highlights and activities, and of course this blog itself is a lovely record of his childhood (and my insanity) — isn’t that enough? If Bubba complains about the lack of a real baby book someday, I’ll just remind him about all the less fortunate children whose mothers opted not to publicly expose their life stories for all the world to mock¹. That’ll shut him up.

9) Come up with other things to feed him besides mac and cheese, ham and bread, spaghetti, and chicken nuggets.

RESULT: PASS (technically…I never said anything about vegetables)

He eats hot dogs now! And quesadillas, occasionally. So…best mom ever?

8) Take Bubba on a beach outing.

RESULT: PASS (for real!)

We actually did this! I’m not sure how much credit I really deserve, considering we live literally 10 miles from the ocean and it took approximately no planning or effort whatsoever, but no matter. He thoroughly enjoyed:

7) Enlist an actual barber to cut Bubba’s hair.

RESULT: PASS!

Another victory! We are regulars at Supercuts now, and he has even progressed from screaming in fear to reluctant acceptance:

6) Figure out my childcare/daycare situation.

RESULT: PASS!

I’m on a roll, kids! Bubba started attending my neighbor’s daycare in February, and it has been FAN-FREAKIN-TASTIC. In fact, I feel like a complete idiot for having fought it for so long, so let’s all just pretend I totally didn’t nearly suffer an emotional collapse over it last year and move along.

5) Brush his teeth…every day.

RESULT: PASS (with assistance)

I accomplished this goal by assigning it to Daddy. Woohoo! Let him get bit by a toddler vampire every night.

4) Do all the fun Halloween stuff (pumpkin patch and subsequent carving of said pumpkins, costume, etc).

RESULT: COMPLETE FAIL

Goddammit, I was doing so well. I tried, though, remember? It was Bubba who decided Halloween was for suckers, not me.

3) Participate in a “mommy and me” class of some sort.

RESULT: HA! I hate other people³.

2) Get some professional photos taken.

RESULT: PASS…?

We did indeed pay someone with a camera to take pictures of us! Whether the results of that harrowing experience qualify as “professional photos” is up for debate, but that’s hardly my fault.

1) Make Bubba his very own quilty.

RESULT: NOT EVEN CLOSE

Isn’t it cute that I thought I’d have time for sewing projects? Bubba’s lucky he has clean sheets most nights — if he wants a custom hand-made blanket, he’s going to have to take something off my plate to free up some time. Can two-year-olds be trusted to make dinner?

A few missed goals aside, 2013 was a great year for me. At the risk of sounding like a serious person (god forbid!) for a moment, I’d like to acknowledge that I am so enormously happy and content with my wonderful life, and it keeps getting better — sometimes I just stop and marvel at my seemingly endless capacity for happiness. It’s hard to imagine that 2014 could prove to be an even better year, but based on the upward trend of my last few years, I can only assume it will indeed be a banner year!

Especially since I’m not wasting my time with any goals or resolutions this year. ANARCHY!

…………………………………

Footnotes:

¹And by “all the world” I mean “my seven loyal fans².”

²And by “fans” I mean “people who accidentally clicked on my link thinking it was something else.”

³Except for you! You’re special! Don’t leave.

Christmas 2013: The Year of 2-Hour Glazed Carrots, a Football Meltdown, and an Awesome Video

Posted on December 26, 2013 by Mo @ The Baby Is Fine

Technically, this year was Bubba’s third Christmas, but considering that he was three weeks old for his first and was more excited about wrapping paper than presents last year, I feel like yesterday was his first real Christmas. It really felt like Christmas this time around, with Bubba singing carols and gorging on red and green M&Ms and trying to claim everyone’s presents as his own. There’s nothing better than enjoying the magic of Christmas with an enchanted child!

Of course, I’m more exhausted today than I’ve been in months and am praising god that this nonsense only happens once a year.

Here are the high (and low) lights:

On both the 23rd and 24th, Bubba woke up no fewer than 950 times throughout the night. This isn’t really related to Christmas other than the fact that each time he woke up he insisted that I sing either Jingle Bells or Mele Kalikimaka (or both), and if I never hear either of those songs again it will be too soon.
On Christmas Eve, my sister let Bubba open a present. It was Spiderman pajamas:

Those jammies did not leave his body until 3pm on Christmas Day when I forced him to change into real-life human clothes. Tears were shed.

I made my husband the best gift EVER (if I do say so myself, and I do). Please take three minutes out of your day to enjoy this masterpiece of adorableness:

Despite several pre-Christmas conversations on the subject, Bubba remained reluctant to accept that each and every present beneath the tree was not, in fact, for him. We had some variation of this conversation approximately every twelve minutes:

Bubba, hopefully: More presents?

Mama: No, Bud. This one is for Grandma. You already got lots of presents, remember?

Bubba: …Mine?

I think I would pay double for toys if they just came pre-assembled. Poor TFW spent his whole day doing this:

I volunteered to make a side dish for Christmas dinner, and my mom helpfully selected a recipe for me, which I didn’t bother looking at until it was time for me to start cooking. Were you aware that it’s possible to spend two hours making glazed carrots? Well, it is.
Since I spent the entire afternoon sweating over fifty pounds of carrots on the stove, I was only able to capture a grand total of about three photos of my son enjoying his Christmas. Here’s one of him refusing to share a wiffle ball with his poor cousin:

Lest you think my family is negligent for allowing our children to prance around in short sleeves and no shoes in December, please note that it was 82 degrees here in LA yesterday.
Despite the weather, I wore tights and a scarf because I got them from my family secret santa and was determined to wear something new. I looked fantastic, and you’ll just have to take my word for it because I was too busy making glazed carrots to pose for photos.
At about 6pm, Bubba officially entered Christmas Overload Meltdown Mode and completely lost his shit when I told him he had to put his cousin’s Nerf football away so we could eat dinner. When I finally convinced him to sit down and eat, I didn’t even care that all he wanted for dinner was a green apple and a pile of barbeque potato chips.
No, he didn’t eat any carrots.
He was so tired by the end of the night, I only had to sing Mele Kalikimaka six or seven times and then he slept for ten straight hours. CHRISTMAS VICTORY!

I hope you all had a delightful holiday and didn’t shed any tears over Spiderman pajamas nor footballs. Merry Christmas to all!

Christmas Confession: I Hate Santa (#sorrynotsorry)

Posted on December 20, 2013 by Mo @ The Baby Is Fine

Growing up, my family didn’t really “do” Santa. Perhaps my mom wasn’t a big fan of his, or maybe with six kids she was just too busy trying to keep us all fed, clothed, and out of trouble to concern herself with perpetuating tall tales about a pack of flying woodland creatures chauffeuring a hirsute, morbidly obese creeper around for the express purpose of breaking and entering into peoples’ homes. This is not to say that my family was without Christmas spirit, of course! Each December, the house was decked out in Christmas finery, my mom baked fifty dozen cookies, and there were always presents galore — there just wasn’t any nonsense about said presents originating from the North Pole.

Lest you think my childhood was lacking due to the lack of Santa, allow me to assure you that I most certainly never felt like I was missing out by not believing. In fact, to be quite honest, I found the whole idea baffling and didn’t understand how anyone could believe. Perhaps I was just an unimaginative child, but Santa and his entire M.O. seemed so far out of the realm of real-world possibility that I actually found the charade a wee bit annoying. Really, this dude’s gotta be the highlight of a parade? And if he shows up at a holiday party, I have to pretend I’m not totally grossed out and sit on his lap?! Please.

As a parent, I’m even more put off by the concept. Why, pray tell, should Santa get credit for all the presents I’m buying and wrapping for my child?! That’s just plain unfair. And you can forget about waiting in line for a photo opp at the mall — I take a hardline stance against any child of mine cuddling up to strangers and whispering in their ears, and the presence of a Santa suit does not sweeten the deal. My biggest gripe, though, is Santa’s cruelty. Assuming he’s real for a moment, can we discuss why the hell he only gives good stuff to rich people while the less-wealthy folks get shit? As my little sister famously asked my mom when she was about four, if Santa’s out there delivering toys and whatnot, why doesn’t he just bring poor people some money and solve their problems? ANSWER THAT, SANTA!

It’s too much. I can’t do it!

Bubba’s not missing out on Christmas fun, though, I promise. As evidence, please enjoy this photo of him eating a snack with his two new best friends, some snowman ornaments he stole from the Christmas tree and has been hoarding ever since:

Merry Christmas!

PS: I love the Tooth Fairy and can’t wait for her to visit Bubba in a few years. #hypocrite

How I Cured My Son’s Bottle Addiction Via Procrastination, Lies, and Bribery

Posted on December 17, 2013 by Mo @ The Baby Is Fine

I’m the first to admit that I am not a perfect parent. To list just a few of my myriad shortcomings, I regularly bribe my child with M&Ms to get him to behave in public¹, I make no effort to stop him from watching WWE (and subsequently attempting some WWE-style divebombs off the sofa), and judging by the outfits he wears and the ridiculous array of toys he carries with him everywhere he goes, I am perhaps a wee bit too indulgent². My most grievous offense to date, however, is undoubtedly the fact that I allowed — nay, encouraged — my son to drink bottles until he was two years old.

I know, I know. It’s bad. I’m cringing.

In my defense, I didn’t plan on letting Bubba drink bottles so long, and I certainly had no intention of creating a routine in which bottles would be used to get him to fall asleep every goddamn night. It just sort of…happened. Listen, do you make the best decisions when it’s 3am and you’re half asleep and your child is crying and you know that you can make it all stop in a matter of seconds by simply chucking a bottle into his bed?! I didn’t think so. And furthermore, I did ask the doctor if she had any tips on breaking the habit when I took Bubba in for his 18 month checkup, and she told me it was perfectly fine for him to continue drinking from a bottle until age two. Granted, I didn’t specify to her that I was allowing him to use bottles as a sleep aid and she probably assumed I was referring to normal daytime bottle-drinking, but with her professional endorsement in hand, I continued enabling Bubba’s ever-worsening dependence on the bottle unfettered and figured I’d sort it all out when he was a little older.

Of course, as time marched along, the situation started seeming a bit ridiculous and I was having more and more trouble pretending that it wasn’t a major problem. When your child can open the fridge and say “milk, please!” and then carry the bottle to bed by himself and drink it with no assistance whatsoever, it’s hard to convince yourself that he’s just a baby and thus bottle drinking is only natural.

I knew I had to put a stop to this nonsense, but I had absolutely no idea how to make it happen. The obvious solution — just not giving him bottles anymore — was out of the question, thanks to my staunch refusal to deal with the epic nightly meltdowns that would surely ensue. Call me a wimp, call me a pushover, but I just do not possess the strength required to tune out the misery of my one and only child. I considered just waiting until Bubba decided for himself that he no longer cared about bottles, but when it became apparent that that day wasn’t likely to come for another decade or so, I buckled down and formulated a plan of attack that I prayed would provide the desired results without traumatizing him (or I):

Step one – planting the seed: Starting last week, I began doing a lot of talking about what a big boy Bubba was, particularly with regard to all the fun stuff he liked to do. “Those Hot Wheels are so cool, Bud,” I’d say. “big boys like you love to play with cars!”

Step two – identifying a patsy: At the same time, I talked non-stop about Baby Mia, the 8-month-old daughter of one of the daycare workers. “Baby Mia can’t play with cars like you can; she’s just a baby!” Or “Baby Mia doesn’t get to eat candy like you do, because she’s just a baby.”

Big boy stuff is awesome; babies have miserable lives and don’t get to have any fun at all. Got it so far?

Step three – a distraction: The night before The Reckoning, I took Bubba to Target and showed him some bedding options, explaining that he was going to get a Big Boy Bed the next day and we were going to say bye-bye to his “baby crib”. Just as I had hoped, he was quite intrigued by this development and happily selected a construction-themed blanket and dump truck pillowcase. I didn’t mention anything about bottles (or lack thereof) at this point — the success of my plan hinged largely upon him being so excited about the new bed that the shocking removal of his beloved bottle would be at least somewhat overshadowed.

Immediately upon picking him up from school the next afternoon, I sprung into action. I told him that his Big Boy Bed was ready and that he was going to sleep in it that very night. All evening, we talked about the bed, frequently abandoning other activities to take yet another peek at it. I nearly damaged a vocal chord with all the excited squealing I was doing (“YOUR BIG BOY BED IS SOOOOO COOL! I LOVE IT SO MUCH!”). And it was working! He was PUMPED!

Step four – bring it all together: When bedtime finally rolled around, I continued expressing excitement about the new bed until the moment I’d been dreading finally arrived: he asked for a bottle. I took a deep breath, said a quick prayer, and in the most casual tone I could muster considering my pounding heart, dropped the hammer: “nope, no more babas, Bud. Babas are for babies like Baby Mia, not Big Boys like you!”

Now, to be completely honest, I didn’t really expect this charade to work. In fact, I hadn’t even thrown the bottles away at this point, because I really thought I might have to give up at some point in the night and just let him have one. But to my complete and utter shock, he accepted it!!! He whimpered for a while and it took ages for him to fall asleep (this was partially due to the excitement about the new bed; he kept calling me in there to talk about the damn dump truck on his pillow), but by 9pm he was sleeping peacefully.

Step five – improvise, lie, and bribe: Obviously, that wasn’t the end of things. No, he woke up in a tizzy at 3:30am, first demanding a bottle and then, upon realizing one was not going to appear, wailing “BABY MIA!!!!! Baaaaaaaaabyyy Miiiiiiaaaaaaaa….”

Apparently, I had been unclear in my explanation of why he couldn’t have any more bottles, because he was convinced that poor Baby Mia was directly responsible for their disappearance. Over and over again, he cursed that innocent infant’s name for stealing what was rightfully his, and obviously, I decided to just go along with it:

“Shhhhhh, it’s OK, Bubba. Yes, that’s right, Baby Mia needs your babas now. You can use a cup like a big boy!”

I kept repeating this ridiculous logic until he began to calm down, at which point I switched gears and opted for some good old fashioned bribery: “Let’s go back to sleep now, and in the morning we can go to the store and get a new dinosaur book! And you can sit in the cart like a big boy and have some M&Ms!”

Guess who hasn’t asked for a bottle since?

When do they hand out the Mother Of The Year awards?

…………………………………

Footnotes:

¹I also consider this strategy to be a learning tool, though, because I make him tell me the color of the M&M before I hand it over. I’m pretty sure the educational value outweighs the bribery, right?

²Do you want to fight with a toddler about why bringing six Hot Wheels, a teddy bear, and a football to the grocery store might not be necessary?

Test Your Toddler-Logic Savvy!

Posted on December 13, 2013 by Mo @ The Baby Is Fine

My dear Bubba is a very intelligent child, if I do say so myself (and I do!). I’m continually amazed by his ever-expanding breadth of knowledge: he knows all the letters in the alphabet (in order!) and can count to ten (not always in order), and his vocabulary seems to grow exponentially by the week. Why, just yesterday he correctly informed me that his M&M was both “yellow” and “a little smushed!”

Of course, he is only two, so there are a some gaps. He doesn’t let something silly like “not knowing what something means” stop him, though! No sir, if he isn’t familiar with something or doesn’t have the right words to explain what he means, Bubba is happy to take a guess or just use a word he does know and forge right ahead. Sometimes he hits the nail right on the head, but other times his logic proves to be a bit flawed. These are the best times, because the results are hilarious!

It can be a bit tricky to figure out what he’s talking about, however. Being his mother, I consider myself an expert, but I know not everyone is as skilled in the Toddler Logic arena. I’ve devised a simple quiz to assess one’s ability to sort out the true meaning behind a toddler’s seemingly nonsensical blabbering. Let’s see how you stack up:

1) When Bubba pointed to something in the bathroom and announced that it was “cheese,” what was he actually looking at?

a) a bath toy
b) a bar of citrus-y soap that admittedly looks a bit like a delicious block of mild cheddar
c) mom’s makeup

2) Bubba pointed at a pizza and shouted that there were “BUGS” on it. While I’m not the best cook in the world, I assure you I most certainly do not incorporate bugs into my meals. What ingredient was he mistaking?

a) wilted spinach
b) pepperoni
c) mushrooms

3) What does Bubba continually insist is a “bike,” causing embarrassment for Mama each time he sees one and runs over in an attempt to play with it?

a) strollers
b) skateboards
c) wheelchairs with annoyed-looking elderly people at the helm

4) When Bubba says something is “too spicy,” what does he really mean?

a) he just doesn’t like that food

b) he would prefer to eat candy

c) the food is fine but it’s really fun to say “spicy”

d) any or all of the above

the one time he actually did accidentally eat something spicy

5) Why does Bubba say he has a boo-boo every night at bedtime?

a) because he actually has a boo-boo

b) because he likes bandaids and wants one

c) because he has figured out that claiming injury is the best way to get Mom to let him out of bed, thanks to her inability to take a hard stance on this nonsense (what if he really had a boo-boo?!)

6) Bubba is confused about what exactly qualifies as a “park.” Which of the below places has Bubba referred to as a park?

a) a slide at the elementary school

b) the waiting room of a doctor’s office

c) a baseball field

d) the beach

e) the swingset at Grandma’s house

f) all of the above, along with literally any location outside our house where there are other kids and/or something to play with

above: actually a park

Answers:

b (I know he’s just a child, but I would like to know what makes him think cheese would ever be stored in a bathroom for any reason)
a (I will concede that spinach kind of tastes like it could be bugs)
c (at least he hasn’t tried to ride one…yet)
d (it’s pretty cute, at least)
c (I’m a sucker)
f (seriously, even the waiting room!)

How’d you do? Are you a Toddler Logic expert, or would a day with Bubba leave your head spinning?

Toddler Wedding Adventures, Take 2. Difficulty Level: Pneumonia

Posted on December 10, 2013 by Mo @ The Baby Is Fine

You may remember when my little sister got married a few months ago, we took Bubba along for the fun (perhaps against our best judgement). As you can imagine, taking a toddler to a wedding — an out of town wedding, no less — was not easy, but we didn’t ruin the party and no one had any nervous breakdowns or anything, so I was thrilled to put the whole experience into the “win” category. With this past success in mind, when it came time to make plans to attend my other little sister‘s nuptials, which took place last weekend, we didn’t even consider leaving Bubba behind. Why would we, right? If anything, I reasoned, he’d be even easier this time around, considering he’s a little older and likes M&Ms even more (and is thus more easily bribed into behaving, at least in precious thirty second intervals).

So the hotel was booked and time off work was arranged. I packed Bubba’s little suit and made a list of all the toys and snacks to bring along (vital: Hot Wheels and M&Ms), and discussed various contingency plans with TFW just in case the dear lad refused to behave during the ceremony. I had learned a lot from the previous wedding and had no doubt that all my bases were covered this time around. I had every step of our journey planned out and was ready for another successful family wedding adventure!

And then on Thursday afternoon, just 24 hours before we were due to leave for Santa Barbara, Bubba developed pneumonia. We spent hours in Urgent Care until a delightful combination of antibiotics and steroids (and Motrin, which he promptly puked up all over himself, me, and his precious teddy bear¹) got both his breathing and his fever (104°!) under control. The poor boy was quite a sight:

Now, obviously, pneumonia is a serious condition and not something to be taken lightly, but I have to admit that my primary concern (after confirming that my child would be just fine, of course) was whether we could still bring him to the damn wedding that weekend! It was my sister’s wedding, after all — it’s not like I could just skip it. Leaving my sick baby behind didn’t sound like a suitable solution, either, because there was no way in hell I was going to trust anyone else to give him his medicine and inhaler². Luckily, the doctor said that since he was on antibiotics and steroids, it was perfectly fine to bring him along — he wasn’t contagious, and while he obviously wasn’t going to be feeling his best, that wasn’t going to change whether he was at home or in a hotel. WHEW! What a relief! The wedding weekend was saved!

Or…not.

Did you know that sick children don’t particularly like sleeping in strange hotel rooms? Or being forced to wear suits instead of comfy nylon pants?

Also, did you know that an outdoor wedding in December can be very, very cold, even in southern California? Like, 39°? And that even adding a sweater on top of a suit is really not sufficient coverage for A TODDLER WITH PNEUMONIA?

Yeah, that poor kid lasted about thirty seconds before I told TFW he had better take him home. It was just too cold and he was just too cranky (how dare I try to force him to wear a beanie! And aren’t I the meanest mom ever for not letting him venture outside the somewhat-heated reception tent?!) — I could tell straightaway that there was no hope of so much as five minutes of wedding-appropriate behavior, no matter how many M&Ms I shoveled down his gullet. All that planning and driving, and my husband and child never even laid eyes on the bride (who was, of course, stunning):

On the bright side, the departure of my ever-patient and accommodating husband and my sickly child meant that I was an unfettered woman all evening, free to enjoy champagne and to dance (poorly) to such gems as Summer Lovin’ and Gangnam Style, so it wasn’t a total bust.

…………………………………

Footnotes:

¹Of course when he vomited, I had no extra clothes for him or myself, because that would have just been way too easy. I sent TFW home to fetch us more clothes and considered sending Gokey home with him so the washing process could begin, but ultimately I decided to keep the bear with us at the clinic despite the fact that he was absolutely drenched in foul-smelling pink puke (Bubba had apparently eaten nothing but peaches for lunch at school); I figured allowing my son to at least see his filthy bear would be preferable to dealing with repeated sobs pleading, “where Gokey?!?!?!” I was right, and it also resulted in several classic lines from Bubba, including “ew…he stinky” and an emphatic “I no touch him.”

²Not even Daddy. Sorry.

Birthday Party Recap: Pukefests, Cleaning Frenzies, and the Best Cake Ever

Posted on December 2, 2013 by Mo @ The Baby Is Fine

For Bubba’s first birthday, I didn’t bother throwing a party. It’s not like he had any friends to celebrate with (he didn’t start daycare until a couple months later), and since he obviously wasn’t going to know the difference, I figured I’d just save myself the hassle. This year I decided to act like a Good Mother and held a full-on party complete with a bounce house and actual guests who were not related to me, and I’m eternally thankful for the prescience (AKA laziness) that allowed me to skip out on last year’s party. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but planning and hosting a birthday party — even a casual one for a toddler — is HARD WORK! All throughout the process I just kept thinking, “people do this every year? HOW, AND WHY!?” By the end of the day, I was ready for a bottle of wine and a weeklong vacation, and vowed to wait at least five years before giving another party.

When I started planning the party (nearly a MONTH in advance, by the way; I fully thought I was the best mom ever for starting so early, then quickly learned that I had apparently started too late), I naively assumed it’d be fairly simple. We’d arrange for a bounce house or something, order some pizzas, invite my family and the daycare kids, and there ya go: party!

False.

First of all, it took me no fewer than 15 calls and 25 emails to find a freakin’ bounce house rental place. Actually, that’s not accurate. I had no problem finding websites and Craigslist listings advertising the rental of said bounce houses, but apparently this is an industry run exclusively by people who don’t speak English and 13-year-olds who learned web design in 1996, because just trying to get pricing and availability information from these companies was like pulling teeth. I nearly wept with joy when I finally received a reply to one of my countless emails and immediately made a reservation, then spent the next four weeks praying they would show up (spoiler: they did!).

With the entertainment vaguely secured, I put together my guest list and started working on invitations. This part was actually fairly easy, because I stole the template from one friend and then forced another friend to edit it to my specifications. It came out beautifully, if I do say so myself:

Once the invitations were out, I started a “party prep to-do list.” This is the point at which I realized that I was in over my head. A party needs decorations! And you’ve gotta have goody bags! What about food?! And wait, will a bounce house be enough entertainment? Do I need a clown or something? (Don’t worry, I didn’t get a clown.) I better arrange for the dog to go to doggie daycare, because she’s kind of a feral beast and might mistake a smile child for a squirrel and try to eat it alive. Oh yeah, I have to make a cake! And it has to be the best cake ever, because I’ve made some pretty sweet cakes (no pun intended) for other people and this is for my son, so it must surpass all others. AND OH MY GOD ALL THESE PEOPLE ARE GONNA BE IN MY HOUSE AND I’VE GOTTA CLEAN THE WHOLE DAMN THING FROM TOP TO BOTTOM!

I did as much as I could in the weeks before the party, but obviously most tasks had to be saved for the days immediately preceding the big event (I ain’t mopping if guests aren’t a-knockin’). So I created a master schedule for the three days before the party and filled every waking minute with cleaning, baking, and setup tasks. My schedule was packed, but I was confident that I could get everything done. I was ready to be the Party Queen!

And then on Thanksgiving night, when my schedule said I was supposed to be tinting fondant and making buttercream icing for the cake, I got hit with The Plague (I can only assume). Puking commenced suddenly and violently. So much puke. I was laid up for 24 hours as the party loomed ever nearer, unable to cross a single item off my to-do list.

Panic ensued. Who’s going to clean my house? (Certainly not my husband, who once looked at a stove literally covered in spilled food and told me, with a straight face and Kenneth Parcell-level sincerity, that he didn’t see anything wrong.) What about my cake?! And those Party City paper dump truck centerpieces aren’t going to fold themselves!

Thankfully, I rallied the next day and cleaned for about 12 straight hours, then got to work on the cake. I decided that aesthetics were more important than quality or taste and used Betty Crocker mixes instead of baking from scratch so I could focus my energies on the decorating instead, something I haven’t done before but will likely always do in the future (no one cares about the taste when they’re looking at a masterpiece of cake design, right??). By Sunday morning, the cake was complete, the house was the cleanest it’s been since Bubba’s birth (sadly not an exaggeration), the goody bags were full of leftover Halloween candy (true story) and fine treasures from Target’s dollar section, and my yard was decked out with construction-themed nonsense. The sketchy bounce house shockingly arrived on time (and stayed upright the entire party, even more shockingly), my parents kindly picked up the food on their way over, and then the guests arrived!

PARTY TIME!