Birthday Aftermath

The V-meister had her second birthday party over the weekend. The P-dog and I are inherently lazy people and our living room is the size of a storage closet, so the festivities took place at one of those indoor play centers that I would have given life and limb up for to celebrate my birthday at as a kid, were it not for the fact that it flew in the face of our Eastern European immigrant code of ethics.

The best part of the manufactured fun had to have been the pin-yah-tah. The P-dog stuffed it chok-full of choking hazards and rigged it up from the suspension bridge. (A suspension bridge! Leading to a tree house! Which I totally climbed and forced my friend V to climb, as well.)

We forgot the blindfolds, but it was all for the best, because watching the assembled pre-schoolers attempt to bust open that pinata with a Nerf bat and completely unobscured vision was painful in and of itself. I can only imagine how dire the situation would have been if we had actually blindfolded them.

Someone eventually knocked it off of its rigging and then they took turns smashing the heck out of it on the ground. Finally, one of the helpers cut a hole in the thing and shook the candy out on the floor, and the little children formed a mosh pit of sorts, clawing and shoving their way towards the loot. I could have sworn I saw someone stage-diving from the puppet theater platform in all the excitement, but I can't be sure.

"This Party Is Freakin' Awesome"

The result of all this partying is a plethora of plastic games for 2 to 4 players ages 4 and up which, unfortunately, can neither be assembled nor played by a four-year-old and her eighteen-month old brother.

Which leaves me with the task. Frankly, I would rather poke my eye out with a pick-up stick, but such are the sacrifices we make, n'est pas?

I was ready to cry uncle and stick my head in the Easy Bake Oven whilst attempting to interpret the assembly instructions for the Hungry Hungry Hippos game. I suppose it's karma coming around to kick me in the bum for all the bad technical documentation I inflicted upon the manufacturing industry in my former career (although I always thought it would come in the form of a subpoena after a factory explosion, but whatever. I'll take the Hippos.)

You know you have reached the very nadir of self-respect when you find yourself asking your four-year-old if she could take a look at the instructions and let you know what she made of them. And when said four year old studies the page for a few seconds before offering a surprisingly helpful suggestion, well then you might as well move into the local Assisted Living community without further delay.

By the time I finally figured it out, I was hell-bent on playing a rousing round of Hungry Hungry Hippos if it was the last thing I ever did. But after about two minutes of marble gobbling ecstasy, the V-meister announced that she was done with the Hippo game and please for to set up the Cooties game now, mama.

I told her that was Daddy's department and gave her the fifty piece These United States puzzle please for to play quietly in your room.

In other news, the J-dog tried to punch a hole in the window of Exam Room Number 3 during his eighteen month wellness checkup this morning (the excitement of this post is palpable, is it not?), so indignant was he at Nurse Mary's audacity in attempting to measure the circumference of his gigantic toddler head. Swear to God, as soon as I released him from my choke hold, he scrambled over to the window and gave it a good one-two punch. Go J-dog! You show 'em!

Everyone is OK, though. The J-dog is thriving and I got a book recommendation from my pediatrician entitled, "Your Three Year Old: Friend or Foe?"

What more can one ask of a Monday?