This is my 100th post. I’ve started and restarted this post about 10 times trying to figure out what to write about. How should I celebrate making it to 100 posts? I just couldn’t decide. Should I write about everything I’ve learned in the past few months of blogging? Should I do a review of my favorite things as a hint to my husband as to how we could celebrate? Nothing seemed quite right.
So instead, I’m going to tell you about the complete crazy town that was my past weekend. Get ready, because this is real life right here.
This past weekend was Little Miss’s birthday. We celebrated by having a small party for family with the theme One in a Melon. I had spent a week or two planning everything, making sure I had all the supplies. Even though it was only for a few family, I wanted to go all out for her first birthday.
Things started to go downhill the night before. It should’ve been a sign for what was to come.
I had sent a batch of photos to be printed by a professional printer on Friday morning. Their website said 1 hour printing, but I hadn’t heard from them so we called to find out a status update. They told us they would be done at 4:30. That was fine because their website said they were open until 7 that evening. So around 6, my mom volunteered to run up there and pick up the photos.
Then I got a call from her. Apparently, contrary to their website, the print shop closes at 5 on Fridays. Well, that’s not convenient. But I could finish all of her baby book and get the frames for the other photos prepped the night before and then just put in all the photos right before. Their website says they open at 10 am on Saturday mornings and my mom confirmed that was what their sign said. Party was at noon. I could have my husband stop at the print shop on his way up to pick up the cake. All would be fine.
Until the next morning.
My husband stopped first at Target to pick up Little Miss’s gift. Then he headed towards the print shop. All seemed going as we had planned until I got a call from my husband. The print shop now had a sign on their door that said on Saturday, they would not open until 1 PM. So there went the possibility of the photos.
Okay. Put away the baby book, that will just have to wait. Put away the frames, I can just rearrange the table decor. It sucks, but it is how it is.
My mom came over and is helping me finish getting ready. My husband finally makes it back home and, while my mom and I are working on putting together the favors and balloon arch, my husband bathes the kids and is working on getting them ready.
While my hands are getting raw from tying balloons, my mom looks over at me and hands me the next piece of bad news. The favors were bags of two macaroons. The day before I had picked up the two sets, following the lady’s instructions to put one set in the fridge and one set on the counter.
Saturday morning, however, my mom looks at me and says, “You’re short two macaroons.”
What? It’s 30 minutes until people are supposed to start arriving. My mom stops what she’s doing and quickly heads over to the bakery where I bought the macaroons to pick up the extras I’m missing.
Shortly after she heads out, I hear my husband shout from the back of the house where the kids’ rooms are, “No Little Miss! That’s not a toy!” She starts scream-crying as if he just took away her most beloved and precious toy. Come to find out that, while he was getting Little Mister dressed, Little Miss had decided to poop on the floor and was playing with it like it was a toy.
I guess it could’ve been worse. She could’ve tried to eat it. But she didn’t and my husband quickly got the floor and her cleaned up. This has to be a rite of passage, right? Or at the very least will make for a great story when she graduates or gets married.
I’m still working on finishing the balloon arch, Little Mister is dressed and generally walking around the house, occasionally handing me a balloon and being a helpful Little Mister. I wasn’t entirely paying attention, focused on trying to get everything finished as quickly as possible. Suddenly I hear my husband shout the next thing from the back rooms.
“Little Mister! What have you done!?”
My heart dropped. That can’t be good.
In case you’re keeping track, so far this is the events of the morning.
- Print shop wasn’t open either times we tried to pick up photos so those aren’t happening.
- We were shorted macaroons for the favor bags, so my mom went to pick up the ones we needed.
- Little Miss played with her poop.
I stop what I’m doing and walk back to our bathroom where I hear Little Mister crying. I look at my husband and ask what happened. What happens next… I’m not proud of. I will admit this was the straw that broke my back.
Did everything turn out fine? Yes.
Was I running on a ridiculously small amount of sleep? Definitely.
Could I have taken a deep breath, hugged my Little Mister and used better words? Without. A. Doubt.
So my husband looks at me and says, “He touched the cake! He has red all over himself.”
I ran back into the kitchen where the cakes were sitting in their boxes on the stove, waiting to be put on the cake stands. Sure enough, there are little fingerprints all over the top layer of the cake that is the red watermelon part. Unfortunately, how the icing was dyed, it can’t just be smoothed over.
Guys… I lost it.
I charged back into that bathroom, tears streaming down my face and start to tell Little Mister how this is why we tell him not to touch things that aren’t his and not just take food from other people’s plates, etc. I’m pretty sure he couldn’t even hear what I was saying over his own crying. I threw his red icing-stained shirt on the bed, turned around, and left to attempt to salvage the cake the best I could.
The rest of the morning went relatively smoothly. Family started arriving, the kids all played together, the cake and poop were forgotten (for the most part), and everyone had a good time.
After the party, after Little Mister also spilled the red punch and my Diet Coke on the ground (minor incidents compared to the rest), I sat down with Little Mister and apologized for how I had reacted. I told him how much I loved him and I snuggled with him.
Life is difficult. We don’t always make the best decisions when we are stressed. We don’t always make the best decisions when we aren’t stressed. We are just trying to do the best we can.
We are a couple days past these events and things are already starting to seem funnier than they were in the moment. In the future I’m sure these will make for a great story at family dinners, big events, and more. We will sit around the table, chuckling about the time Little Miss played with her poop at her first birthday. We’ll recount how Little Mister used to try to sneak food from other people’s plates until the time he got into the cake at her first birthday.
One day we will get there. Until then, happy 100th post! Here’s to more great stories, more great advice, more experiences, and more activities. I can’t wait to find out what my next 100 posts will hold.