I have a tendency to "over do" things a bit. I am a planner. An event organizer. It's what I do. It's my job. And I love to hate it. So staying in true Stacey-fashion, I saw no reason to not go overboard with Grayson's birthday party this year. I mean, he did turn the big 3.
I wanted his party to be perfect. To be a shows-stopper. I wanted it to be something he talked about when he got older. When I get into "planning mode", my eyes tend to glaze over and my brain's logical switch gets turned off. He's three. Of course he won't remember this party. We are talking about the same kid that ate a stick of deodorant. And, I ended up stressing myself out. Just like normal. I spread myself too thin. I was organizing a work event, and then there was Halloween, and then G's birthday, and oh, yeah, I have a family to take care of, too during this whole time. What age is appropriate to start teaching your child to cook his own meals and do laundry? Some three year olds in other countries are already married and running a sweat shop. I'm just sayin'.
I wouldn't describe what I did as sobbing because that word doesn't come close to describing what my body was doing. Is there a level of crying that comes after sobbing? Squalling? Blubbering? Convulsing? Recreating that one scene in the bible where the bearded dude has to build the boat?
Wait. Didn't every dude in the bible have a beard?
Last year when I entered Birthday Party Phase, I thought I began planning in plenty of time. I was wrong. Finding a place to host the gig was mind-numbing. After weeks -WEEKS - of attempting to find the perfect place, I booked one of the local fire stations. "Oh the kids will love this. And the parents will be talking about how awesome of a job I did with the party." Pffft. It ended up being almost 70 degrees and all the kids wanted to do was run around outside and chase each other with sticks.
But this year, I had to out-event that event.
My parents built a park pavilion in between our houses. I concurred it would be the perfect place to host the birthday party. A farm themed birthday party. And then the creative juices started flowing, and the mound of ideas and my expectations just got bigger and bigger. I would get some farm animals - some goats and whatnot, we would have farm themed food, and oh, oh, a HAYRIDE! Yes! Yes! I am a party planning guru!
My husband warned me I was getting in over my head. But the visions of kids laughing, and feeding goats, and giggling on the hayride completely submerged his cries for me to be reasonable and his pleas fell on deaf ears. And clearly, it was to the point now, that even if I was, I wasn't stupid enough to admit it to him. I was going to win. And prove him wrong. Or die trying.