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| November is so dreary... |
When my daughter woke up on the day of her 12th birthday party sick, my first thought was: "I am not rescheduling this party." When it became clear that I would indeed have to locate the numbers of 15 disparate parents of classmates and call them exactly one hour before they were due, I did what any caring parent would do: I tried to evaluate just how sick my daughter was. Would nausea and stomach spasms really be that bad? When propping her up on a pillow no longer seemed like a feasible option, I made the call(s) and cancelled the party. I was feeling pretty good about my sense of calm and alacrity dealing with the situation until the phone rang: "Hello, I'm H's dad..." With a bit of dread, I looked outside the balcony and saw a man with a present and a girl next to him. Oh no, someone had slipped through the cracks. Turns out, the mom was preoccupied with a sick baby and hadn't seen her phone.
Once the party was cancelled, I was secretly thinking: "Oh well, better luck next year." But no, turns out cancelling to Eliot just meant by one week, not a year. So I baked another chocolate cake, called the pizza guy, contacted all the parents (again), and hoped that there would not be a thunder storm on the day (there was, but then luckily the sun came out).
And it was all worth it. Well at least until bedtime, when after thanking me with big hug, she smiled and said: "I think this year we should have a Christmas party."
