Parties Archives - Page 9 of 16 - Enjoying the Small Things

Happy Everyone’s Pretend Birthday Party

September 10, 2015 By Kelle

I started to write this post with a relevant quote from one of my favorite books, Mrs. Muddle’s Holidays, and remembered as I always do when I read that book, about how I discovered it and the little lesson that came with it.

When Bloom came out, I was asked to write an essay for NPR’s All Things Considered. I completely geeked out but quickly reminded myself not to write anything like “geeked out” because this was NPR for Pete’s Sake! I also told myself “don’t be sentimental, don’t be cute, don’t be sweet, don’t be, don’t be, don’t be”…because this was NPR for Pete’s sake! So I wrote an essay and scanned it over once, twice, three times with my “not too sentimental” detector. I checked for solid sentence structure, balanced simple sentences with complex ones and provided good solid information about Down syndrome that sadly drowned out my own voice. “This is very NPR-ish,” I thought. Satisfied with myself, I sent it on to my publicist who forwarded it to the All Things Considered producer. And do you know what she wrote back?

“I don’t want NPR. I want you.”

She called me out. I tried to write something that would fit, something I thought they wanted instead of writing my story, and in doing so lost everything I wanted to say. And I knew it. “Write it again,” she asked. So I did. I wrote from my heart, unplugging the “make it fit” filter, letting every drip of my feelings fall where they may on the screen. I sent it in and walked away from my computer. Later, I found these words from my publicist. “THIS. This is what they want. Your voice. They love it, they’re running it and they want you to record it.”

After it aired (here), the producer and I wrote back and forth for a while, recommending our favorite children’s books. She introduced me to Mrs. Muddle who has since become my spirit animal, and every time I read it, I think about the little story that came with her introduction.

Someday, I’ll hang a cross stitch hoop art on my wall with threads in every color. It will say: “Don’t be NPR. Be you.”

From the afterward of Mrs. Muddle’s Holidays:

“There are more holidays on the calendar than any one person could ever observe. But everyone needs something to celebrate and people to celebrate with. Sometimes the most wonderful occasions are the ones people make for themselves–the birthday party, the family trip, or the neighborhood picnic that becomes bigger and better every year until it becomes a tradition. Mrs. Muddle’s holidays are this kind. She is celebrating her favorite things–April showers, the beginning of summer, the first snow. But she is really celebrating friends, community, and love.”
~Laura Nielsen

So Everyone’s Pretend Birthday Party came to be.

Several months ago, at one of our little friend’s birthday celebrations, he said, “I wish it could be everyone’s birthday one day”–on his own birthday, because he has a big tender teddy bear heart and likes to share everything–even birthdays. I pulled out my phone and told him to pick a day–any day. He scrolled through and randomly chose a day in September, a day we all forgot about until last week my phone dinged with a one-week reminder for “Everyone’s Pretend Birthday Party.”

We bought the necessities–hats, balloons and cake–and Lainey decorated signs and hung them around the house. What followed was such a memorable evening of friendship–a birthday for the books.

I made a big pot of chili for the main dish to keep things easy, but the kids each chose their favorite side dish. The result was a delicious hodgepodge buffet: mac & cheese, pomegranate seeds, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes and gravy, and yogurt. Cohesive menu, eh?

My favorite part? During dinner, we each chose someone at the table to make up a birth story for and told it aloud: “You were 1,000 pounds when you were born. Your mom was an alien, and she wrapped you in a giant blanket. You cried all night but she couldn’t hold you because you were too big. She named you Regina Poopy. You were cute.”

We decorated birthday head versions of ourselves with balloons, hats, markers, yarn and glue.

Nella’s KILLS me: third from left. So abstract. So perfect.

Lainey insisted that the original version of the Happy Birthday song wouldn’t work because it’s intended for one person, so she rewrote a celebrates-all version. Her friend Ryan, the musical genius, picked right up on it and played backup ukulele.

The kids each brought a dollar store gift because tiny treasures make the world go round.

And they built giant marshmallow skyscrapers because, coincidentally, September 3rd is also National Skyscraper Day–no joke.

The evening ended with all the kids huddled on the floor, decorating the World’s Biggest Birthday Card–hand prints, scribbles, art work and sweet messages. When we finally hugged goodbye and kids trudged off to bed with sleepy smiles, I felt all the Mrs. Muddle feels. It may have looked like a birthday with cake crumbs and deserted hats and balloons floating away by the end of the evening. “But she is really celebrating friends, community, and love.”

Don’t be Mrs. Muddle though. And don’t be NPR. Be you.

(oh, and pssst…happy belated birthday to all of you! So glad you were born.)

A Back to School Party

August 18, 2015 By Kelle

Blame it on the Dollar Spot at Target. Or the fact that you can take the teacher out of the classroom, but you can’t take the Sticker Obsession/Chalk Attraction/Chunky Pink Eraser Love out of the teacher (which is why I still write in D’Nealian, by the way). Whatever the case, our back-to-school enthusiasm met up with the back-to-school dollar treasure aisle and BOOM! A little celebration was born. See also: excuse to make cookies, we missed our friends, we had some apples to use up, kid parties make people smile.

The plan was low key party, treats and a big kid swim fest where moms catch up in between yelling “Careful!” and “Don’t run!” and “Dry off before you come in!” But it started pouring right when everyone arrived which brought us to Plan B-the trump card for everything in life: COZY FALL FEST. Dim the lights, burn candles, play the jazz greats. This advice works for every situation imaginable. Try it.

Witching hour madness? Dim the lights, burn candles, play the jazz greats.
Want to make out with your spouse like it’s your first date? Dim the lights, burn candles, play the jazz greats.
Company coming over in half an hour and you’re not ready? Dim the lights, burn candles, play the jazz greats.
Feel like everything’s falling apart and you don’t know where to begin to fix it? Dim the lights, burn candles, play the jazz greats.

See? Foolproof.

Quick note: I’ve been advised over the years by many wise homemakers/moms/family members that the best way to quickly clean up when you’re running behind is to grab a laundry basket and run through your house putting anything you don’t know what to do with in the basket. The idea–although it doesn’t always work out this way–is that you entirely clean out the basket later. Or leave it in a closet for two weeks, but who’s counting? Anyhoo, in a quick clean-up of my catch-all kitchen counter before the party, I did this impressive arm sweep across the entire length–like the counter was a windshield and my arm was a giant wiper. This collection of stuff avalanched into the basket, and I had to laugh when I looked down to watch The Life-Changing Art of Tidying Up land with a thunk. I see your KonMari Method, and I raise you a Hampton ThrowShitInALaundryBasket Game Changer. Let’s just say the book may have inspired some new routines around here, but we still have work to do.

A few pictures from our Back to School celebration…

For the Elmer’s container for the yogurt, I found a square glass canister at Target and cut and glued some orange construction paper to make the famous orange lid. I enlarged an Elmer’s School Glue label and edited it with a little Comic Sans font. You didn’t ask for my feelings on Comic Sans, but I will tell you anyway: belongs in a classroom or the Sunday funnies, and that’s it. I recall a college professor admonishing a room of soon-to-be professionals: “And don’t you DARE use Comic Sans on your resume.”

Brushed up on my 7’s and 8’s Times Tables because I was a little rusty.

We did a wafer/mini marshmallow version of the ever popular Pinterest cheesestick/Bugle pencil.

The kids decorated their own cookies but I did a few samples for them. I’ve loved my buttercream frosting recipe but tried a new decorating frosting recipe that hardens/sticks/paints on much easier, and loved it. It has a little almond extract in it and tastes delicious.

The kids loved the doughnut competition–a fun game for any party. String doughnuts and hang them high enough for a challenge (right above the nose) above two kids. They can’t use their hands and have to compete to see who can eat the doughnut off the string first.

Turns out the sun did come out–as it always does–and the rest of the afternoon continued with summer-loving kids making waves before they take their wave-making game to the classroom.

And now we swim.
And tonight?
Dim the lights, burn candles, play the jazz greats.

An Art Party: 8 Years Old

May 18, 2015 By Kelle

I wish I could gather up all the things of Eight Years Old and store them in a bottle on my kitchen shelf, wedged between the other bottles and vials of things that keep me healthy and make me happy–the vitamins; the thieves oil; the jar of shells and pebbles from West Twin Lake, Summer of 2012; the delicious honey candle jar with just enough wax saved in the bottom for one more burn. I’d get a good bottle for these 8-year-old things, the best I could find–blue glass maybe or amber–and I’d add a pretty label–silver, with sparkles. The Magic of Eight-Year-Old Things, it would say.

In the bottle, I’d pour in the excitement of turning another year older, uncensored by the need to play it down. I’d tuck in the thrill of getting to school early just to make sure you hear your birthday announcement on the school’s morning news–because it’s quite nice to be celebrated for being born–and the next day announcement that there’s only 364 days left until the big Nine. There’d be tiny toys in there–trinkets that fit in your pocket, like Shopkins and puzzle erasers and bright-colored charms for chain bracelets. There’d be smiles in the bottle–all kinds of them from thin shy ones to wide grins full of spaces from missing teeth. I’d slip in notes and stapled books I find around the house–like “The Book of Girls” with page after page of drawings of girls in peace sign shirts and heart skirts that sit above long stick-thin legs, and labeled names like Alis and Menica and Emmee and Kira. I’d keep the misspellings–as many of them as I could find because they’re lovely and a very special part of 8-Year-Old Things. And sometimes 36-Year-Old Things.

I’d carefully add the innocence–in fact, I’d use a dropper to squeeze it in drop by drop so that none of it is wasted–the good intentions, the benefit of the doubt, the beautiful open space present before the knowledge of pain and suffering and evil in the world leaves shadows that cannot be erased. There’d be twirly skirts and Taylor Swift songs, hand claps and jump ropes, sidewalk chalk and pink pleather wallets stuffed with hotel key cards and a few loose dollars and a handful of change–we’re talking a lot of money. The pennies would be saved for fountain wishes, naturally. The bottle would preserve the love of Lunchables, Chuck E. Cheese, chapstick in flavors like Dr. Pepper and Junior Mints, gumballs in your ice cream, dropping quarters into bubble gum machines, princesses, shoes with heels that click, a sneaky swipe of Mom’s lipstick before school, worn off remnants of temporary tattoos. I’d add friend dates and still call them play dates. I’d drop in Good Luck Charlie but smile when I poured in Curious George right after.

A generous amount of feeling pretty would float in the bottle and mean nothing more than a cute headband or some sparkles on your shirt–not weight or face lines or thigh gaps. And there’d be love–infinite love–solidified not in answers to existential questions or attention from crushes but in dinner on the table and back rubs before bed and parents waving from the crowd at the second grade musical.

And I’d save the best for last. Right before I corked the bottle, I’d put the magic in, the stuff that makes the bottle glow–imagination without limits and shimmery drops of belief–in Santa and fairies and mermaids, love and opportunity and equality, and good stories with good endings.

I’d open the bottle every day, swirl the contents, take deep breaths in and never forget the importance of Eight-Year-Old Things for every year after.

Eight years ago tonight, I held a little girl for the first time and could barely say the word daughter without my heart flipping. For all the grade school What Do You Want to Be When You Grow Up? questions I had always filled in with the same answer, knowing my aspirations were just as dreamy as my classmates’ answers of rock star and actor and astronaut, I did it. I became the dream…a mother.

This weekend we celebrated those 8-Year-Old Things with an art party at our local pottery studio, Earth & Fire, and a dozen sweet artists.

We put the “art” in party.

Cupcakes from the Hello, Cupcake book, one of my favorite creative baking inspirations. Lainey will randomly go through it, pick something out and say “Let’s make this one.”

Some peeks and pics from our day:

Clear paint cans from Michaels or you can buy online here

Lainey and I made the party hats by adding cut card stock paint palettes to Spritz hats from Target (10-pack)

She’s looked at this book and all the messages her friends wrote so many times this weekend.

Before the pizza came, the kids had fun decorating their own picture frame placemats and adding their art to pages from this awesome book.

Eight seems a good age to let the girls do their own fun thing at a party without moms hovering with the next game. We walked down to the dock for ice cream after we ate, and the girls had silly fun making up their own games, talking and taking pictures. Watching them was another experience–how in the world did we get here?