Friday, October 12, 2007

Ben's Turning 12... Pass the Advil

I have an enormous headache right now. Pounding from the top of my head all the way down my neck. I have an untold number of 12 to 14 year olds coming to my house tomorrow for Ben’s birthday party.

Oh my.

Some of the kids he’s invited, I know. Some I’ve known since they were two. Some I’ve never met before, new kids he’s met at middle school. Some boys but mostly girls are coming. He keeps adding people to the list every day.

Thank god it’ll be over soon.

There are eight 2-liter bottles of pop on the counter. (Yes, I call it pop. I am from Upstate New York. Soda just doesn’t sound right.) Bags of chips, funions, cheetos line the counter. There are boxes of popcorn to pop. We have to get a cake, still.

And start taking Advil now.

Ben loves a party. He helps me set up the room, put out the food, arrange the drinks. I have goofy napkins from Mik-Wright and he picks out which one we’ll use. He knows how to put a glass on a pile of cocktail napkins and twirl them in order to fan the pile neatly. I’m sure set up for the 5pm party will start at about noon.

Might want to do a back up of Excedrin.

I remember once when Ben was in preschool, a party he had with his entire class at our house. Jeanine, the birthday party/camp counselor / social director has crafts, games, music, prizes and of course, the piñata dangling from the ceiling. There was a disco ball twirling, even though it was still daytime.

I ran around trying to keep gummy pieces of candy from sticking permanently to the floor. I’m not made for parties of many small children. Tomorrow won’t be small children though. These kids are grown. Tall. Some of the girls have breasts and wear make up.

You hang out with 8th graders? I asked Ben.

Yes, He said with an air of worldly confidence. I am very mature, He added.

Huh.

I remember the difference in what I was doing in sixth grade versus eighth grade. Spin the bottle and post office in sixth grade. Two girls I knew got pregnant in eight. And that was a million years ago.

A friend shared a story about having a 12th birthday party and trying to sneak liquor to the event. I don’t remember having a birthday party after my friend stepped on the eight-layer cake my mother had made from scratch, having put it on the car floor to take to a public pool. I did have an 18th birthday party, though. My mother cooked broiled lobster tails for six of my friends- who all hated the lobster- and let me buy one six pack of beer.

It was a wild time. Actually, it did end up being one but not at home.

One of the other mothers at the school told me she said no more parties after her son turned 10- years old. I think that’s a good rule.

Jeanine told me to stop being such a party pooper.

Only 12 kids invited, I growled.

She smiled. I was in Maine when the invitations went out. I think 20 were delivered.

I’ve been given the job of snack bar coordinator.

You used to cater, right? Ben asked. Did I need a resume to get the gig?

Yeah.

Make sure you get the right kind of cups for the drinks…

My eyes start to glaze. My headache grows.

Maybe I should skip the Advil and Excedrin and go straight for the gin…

3 Comments:

Anonymous Laura said...

ahhhh, the memories............

.........good luck!

6:36 PM  
Anonymous donald said...

what do you mean gin? you are a bigtime vodka woman!!! make it a triple and then worry about the excedrin! will be thinking about you, thank god i am 6 hours away!!

7:58 PM  
Blogger Sara said...

um... I do like gin, too.

I think it was Walter wanting to talk to me about sconces for the living room an hour before the party that sent me over.

great great time. so proud of ben.

10:44 PM  

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