Owen-Wan Kenobi's Last Home Birthday Party

Every other family in town sagely seems to host 6th birthday parties at an indoor playground, pool, gymnasium, etc. We, however, for the second year in a row, let Owen talk us into hosting his birthday party at our house. We are apparently slow learners.

As soon as we consented to Owen's request for a Star Wars themed party at our place, he began suggesting that we decorate each room of the house as a different planet in the Star Wars galaxy, including an ambitious request to turn the living room into the lava-covered planet from Episode III, and the dining room into the ice planet of Hoth from the Empire Strikes Back. Yikes!

We eventually scaled back his plans to something workable, and worked out a guest list of seven of his little friends. An expensive but fun trip to the party megastore followed, along with some long days of agonizing over a cake design by Deanna (the final decision: an unappetizing looking but tasty Jabba the Hutt, using, amusingly, an Easter lamb cake mold as its base foundation), and research regarding Star Wars party games by me. Finally, after some serious night-before decorating, we were ready to rock.

Entertaining eight six-year-olds for two hours is not a pleasant task under any circumstances. Still, despite dreading it for days, I think Deanna and I can both agree that it was actually worse than we imagined. While things generally hung together for the first five minutes or so, the situation started to deteriorate when they spread out to multiple floors, despite our best efforts to corral them. Then, at the outset of the first game, one kid, who we didn't much know and who seemed a bit out-of-sync with the others, simply disappeared. Once Deanna reported to me that she couldn't find him, we took turns quietly scouring the house for him while the other gamely attempted to hold the rest of the group's attention. Increasingly desperate, we learned later that we had both independently gone out to the mudroom and counted the kids shoes and coats - all there. Finally, convinced that he must have left I began searching outside, stunned that we could lose one of our eight charges just 10 minutes into the party. Deanna was just looking up his mom's number to call and say we couldn't find him - not a pleasant call to make - when she saw a shadow move behind a chair. The little bastard actually smirked as he acknowledged to Deanna that yes, he had heard us all calling for him - just didn't feel like coming out.

While the rest of the party was fairly unpleasant as well - fist fight, verbal altercations, crying, running out of games after the first hour - it all actually seemed delightful compared to our panic of thinking we had lost one of our guests.

While we may have had a tough go of it, the kids all actually seemed to have a blast, including making a giant space-themed mural, which, amusingly, including poorly spelled versions of risque six-year old terms like "fartsicle" and "poopy-head." The highlight for me was some Jedi-sensory training that consisted of having the kids stick their hands into cups to feel various things they couldn't see and then telling them they were gross things like "Darth Maul's eyeballs" (mandarin oranges) and "Bantha guts" (spaghetti). I knew this was a success when one of the kids told me later, upon finding out it had been mandarin oranges and not eyeballs, that he had been wondering how we gotten our hands on Darth Maul's eyeballs.

I will leave you with this photo of Deanna, attempting, to no avail, to summon Obi-Wan to help us watch the kids.

Leftovers

Some Thanksgiving Weekend Highlights (and Lowlights):

Festive Holiday Decorating: Owen was in a drawing/decorating frenzy in the week leading up to Thanksgiving, specializing in before and after drawings of turkeys - the first drawing of a live happy turkey, the next, always on the same page, of a turkey ready for eating with its eyes marked with an x. He also refused to eat any turkey, basing his claim on a book that was read to him at pre-school involving turkeys who did not want to be eaten and who were holding up "Eat Tuna" signs. A budding vegetarian at age 4?? Is Tofurky in our future???

Blessings Bestowed: We hosted 20 at the house for Thanksgiving. It is a tribute to the organizational skills of Deanna that we were so ready for the party that I was able to take a 1/2 hour nap with Owen just prior to the guests arriving. Unprecedented! Although I avoid the pressure of having to carve a fresh out-of-the-oven Turkey right before dinner by us cooking and carving the turkey the day before and then simply reheating the cut meat in a big pan with gravy, I still have to say Grace. This year, I decided to wing it (pun vaguely intended). Perhaps channeling my inner Pilgrim, this resulted in me using the term "bestow" about a zillion times during the blessing as I rambled on fairly aimlessly about how lucky we all are. Various blessings that I may have mentioned had been bestowed upon those present included, but were not by any means limited to, good health, family, freedom, the food, kids who sleep through the night on occasion, strong cocktails on the odd-night out, HBO, the Bears vague playoff hopes, indoor plumbing, good heads of hair (my dad, not me), Schick Quattro razors (a gift to all the world!), and being lucky enough to live in the same country as David Beckham and Posh (the just-announced reunion of the Jackson Five was but a gleam in some promoter's eye on Thanksgiving, or I undoubtedly would have thrown that in as well). It all gets a bit fuzzy from there but you get the idea.

Thanks for the Smallpox, White Devils: After Thanksgiving Dinner, I read a children's book called The First Thanksgiving to the assorted kids present. Owen had checked it out of the library a couple of weeks earlier and had solemnly informed me that it "was a little sad" in the middle. Indeed it was. In this relatively unsugarcoated version, the kids were informed that there were no Indians in the immediate area when the Pilgrims landed as thousands had been wiped out by a "terrible sickness" brought by English fisherman four years earlier. Three pages later, half the Pilgrims are wiped out during the first winter as they huddled all together in the only building they had had time to construct that first season after landing. It has been a long time, but I don't recall the accounts of the Pilgrims I received as a child being quite so full of grimness and death. If this particularly version doesn't make today's kids thankful for their cushy lives, nothing will!

Doorbusters: For the third year in a row, I participated in a little Black Friday door-busting. This has much more to do with my poor sleep habits than it does with my actually accomplishing any Christmas shopping. If I am going to be awake at 4 a.m., I figure I might as well be awake at a store accomplishing something rather than awake in bed idly hoping I can fall back asleep. Since there is only one day a year that I can actually go to J.C. Penney at 4 a.m., I went. I marveled at the crowds. The lines at every register were 25 people long by 4:30 a.m. The line at Circuit City at 5:40 a.m. was over 150 people long. It took me a bit to warm up, but I eventually did get in the spirit by throwing a few elbows and closing some blockbuster-savings deals. And, I was back in bed by 7:30 a.m. The twins, unfortunately, got up at 7:31.

I'm On My Way to Church, Officer, Honest!: At 9:29 a.m. on Sunday morning, I was pulled over doing 70 in a 55 mph zone by a 20-year old cop who was wearing sunglasses despite the fact that the sun was buried behind a wall of clouds. As luck would have it, we were late for a 9:30 a.m. memorial mass for Deanna's grandmother. That fact, my cute sleeping kids, and my stellar driving record persuaded him to let me off with a warning. Perhaps Deanna's grandmother was simply having a bit of fun with us, as we were, spookily, pulled over across from the entrance to the cemetery where she was buried.

Bears Playoff Hopes Live On, Family Time to Suffer Further: Half-way through the 4th quarter of the Bears game on Sunday, Rex Grossman fumbled for what seemed like the 8th time of the day. With the Bears down by 14, I turned off the TV in disgust, and loudly proclaimed to Deanna that the season was over, that I was done watching any further Bears games for the year, that the players should be shamed into giving back their undeserved salaries, and that Sunday afternoons were once again "Family-Time". I wasn't alone, and I am sure any alien listening devices aimed from outer space at the Chicago-metro area at about that time would have picked up the sound of thousands of TVs clicking off simultaneously. It was only by chance that twenty minutes later I went down to the basement where we had left a TV on and learned the Bears had closed to within a touchdown. They, of course, went on to win in overtime, thereby keeping hope alive and requiring at least one additional Sunday of me being tethered to a TV for further torture prior to the eventual and inevitable extinguishing of all hope. Until such time, Sunday afternoon Family Time is on hold. Daddy likes a quiet baby.

Back to School: As we walked Owen through the school parking lot yesterday morning, he yelled "Hey Gas-hogger!!" at the driver of a GMC Yukon. Strikes me that it might be time to dial-down the anti-large SUV ranting around the house.

Best! Wife! Ever!

One year and three months past my 40th birthday, Deanna threw me an awesome 40th surprise birthday party this past Friday. Not only were 50 or so of my very favorite people there, she hired the incredibily talented Robbie Fulks, our favorite performer, to play in our backyard. With the kids all disbursed out to various grandparents, I had a rip-roarin good time until 2 a.m., as, I hope, did everyone else. Deanna has now earned the title of Best Wife Ever! for the foreseeable future.

The following day, we were off to Springfield for my Grandmother's 91st birthday spectacular, an event long known for its oppressive heat and humidity and family infighting. On Saturday night, as I stood, still vaguely hungover, in the bathroom of a Springfield hotel, washing the day's grime off of baby bottles in the bathroom sink, and about 16 crying and whining jags past my daily tolerance level for such activities from our severely overtired kids, I reflected wistfully on how much cooler my life had been 24-hours ago.

I suppose that sounds a little selfish, and it is true I am often selfish, a prime example being my periodic complaining about not having had a fun 40th birthday despite the fact that we were one week away from moving and Deanna was 7 months pregnant at the time. But, as awesome as it is to be a father and a family, it is also important to remember that we are individuals, and a couple beyond who we are as parents and who we are at work. Beyond the obvious - the fact that my wife is wonderful and apparently still digs me enough to do something really special for me - the party served to remind me that I was, and still am, when time actually permits, the person who once upon a time had cool friends and outside interests and that we were a couple who had a hell of a lot of fun even before being blessed with our little guys. So, considering how much of ourselves we devote to our children and the time we invest in making their lives as great as we can, I don't think it is unreasonable to want a little something for myself now and again, to see those friends and pursue those interests, as doing so contributes to my happiness and thus theoretically makes me a better parent.

Having written the above a day or two earlier, it strikes me that this whole "a happy parent is a good parent" thing is really a pretty good rationalization for more nights drinking until 2 a.m.!

First Year in the (Curious George) Books

The twins turned one this past weekend. Like any decent parents, we honored the twins request for a large birthday party. We limited it to relatives - 22 of them, including us - ignoring their insistent demands that we invite their large circle of little friends.

Seriously though, it does seem odd to have a big party for little beings who couldn't care less, who are as entertained by the ribbons as anything that comes inside the wrapping paper, and who would probably be happier just hanging with us than a bunch of semi-strangers who are insistently cooing in their faces. Once you factor in the time involved in prepping for a big gathering - time where you are trying to minimize the time spent catering to the babies so you can actually accomplish something - the whole thing is a bit absurd. Ultimately, it is probably best to admit that the party is essentially for the parents rather than the honorees. It is true, in support of the concept, that turning one is a milestone birthday. In addition, my wife's family has a history of big first birthday parties. In the final analysis, it is as good a reason as any to drink mimosas at 11 a.m. on a Sunday morning.

We went with a Curious George theme and put a lot of time and effort into the whole thing. We made monkey face cupcakes by using black and red frosting for the mouth, nostrils, and eyes, nilla wafers as the base for the mouth and nose, marshmallows for eyeballs, and mini-s'more cookies for ears. We made five different quiches with primate-themed names, such as "the Jane Goodall", and hung stuffed monkeys from the chandaliers and other various spots. Unfortunately, we ran out of time to do a stuffed monkey recreation of the infamous ether sniffing scene from "Curious George Gets a Job." Just as well, as that one would have gone unappreciated by the vast majority of attendees anyway. In the end, it was definitely a worthwhile endeavor as the weather was awesome, the guests had a lot of fun, and the babies eventually warmed up to the crowd and had a good time.