So last night (or was it this morning?) I had this brilliantly hilarious blog post running through my head. I thought, “Hey, considering the great infrequency of my blogging these days, and the greater infrequency of my blogging anything of interest or humor, this will be kind of epic. For me, anyway.”
So now, of course, I’ve forgotten it. I mean, not only have I forgotten all the funny parts and the gut-busting way in which I was going to recount all those funny parts, I’ve completely forgotten what the topic even was. This makes me wonder if maybe I only dreamed I had a brilliantly hilarious blog post running through my head. I do that sometimes – have dreams that seem so real that I think they actually happened. Until I realize they didn’t. So far I’ve always come to this realization before I said or did something to make me look totally insane, but I’ve had a few close calls.
So this post will be rambly. Maybe disjointed.
Good gravy. I’m already boring myself. No. Wait. Not bored. Just fragmented. A certain little girl who was cut from my womb eight years ago today wants to do something with me. I don’t think watching me type counts. Not to be all scroogy and worst-mother-of-the-year-y, but I just threw her an epic birthday party yesterday. Can’t I have today off? She’s upstairs retrieving her spa basket that she got from some friends. I’m seeing my future, and in it I am a nail technician.
“Thank goodness for quick-dry nail polish,” is all I can say.
So did I mention the epic birthday party? Here is where I’m going to tell you that I’ll post pictures from the party another day because I am just too tired today. All that, of course, should be interpreted to mean, “I fully intend to post more pictures another day, but fully acknowledge that I will probably forget about it long before I ever get around to it, and as for doing it today? I’m just too sloth-butt lazy.”
But here is one picture, because even sloths move a little bit:
This sign was by the door to our mudroom. Nobody ever goes to our actual, official, formal front door because it’s too far from the driveway, so they come to the front door that goes into the mud room. The kids asked me the other day what the point is of having the actual, official, formal front door since nobody ever uses it. Best I can figure is that it’s for the Kirby Vacuum sales people and the irrevocably formal and uptight, but I didn’t tell them that.
Anyway, thank goodness they all use the mudroom front door, because we transformed the mudroom into a wand shop. So as each kid came in for the party, Lillivander was there to give them a wand. It was all cute in concept. It was even cute in execution until I realized we’d just handed out wooden wands to 14 children ages three to nine. That realization hit when they started pointing and jabbing their wands at each other while yelling things like, “Sectum sempra!” Yeah, that one was my kid.
So we repeatedly, as we were sorting them into houses, reminded the kids that they could only do charms and spells, NO curses, and wands could not be pointed at people and, for the love of all that’s holy, NEVER run with a wand in your hand.
We made it through the entire day without incident or injury. Except one girl needed a band aide for her finger. No, wait, that was today at church, not yesterday at the party. At least I know it wasn’t a dream. So, a frazillion kids with wands and no blood. In my book? That makes for a great party.
Before I give you the Readers’ Digest Condensed Version of the party (I swear, short and sweet), I have to tell you one more thing.
As we were maniacally do last minute party prep yesterday, McH had to leave for a bit to hit the bank (not rob it, just, you know, stop in quick and cash a check) and then go pay for the horse boarding (if your daughter ever wants a pony, have her email me – I promise, she’ll see reason once I’m done with her). Eventually he came back (thank goodness! Because who else could have been our potions master, Professor Egregious Dingbang???) and a few minutes after he came back he told me he thought maybe he broke one of my rules.
Seriously? I couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. I mean, other than, “If I’m in the bathroom with the door closed, stay out,” I don’t really have any specific “rules” for my husband. Know what I mean? Just doesn’t seem like a productive way to foster a healthy marriage.
Anyhoo . . . turns out he brought home this:
Yep, that’s right: a niffler.
Dammit. I really did say no more animals. I did have a rule. No. More. Animals! At least she’s already sniffing for galleons, as you can see by the picture; but now I’m wondering what other rules I’ve put out there that I’ve forgotten about, and how micromanaging am I, anyway?
Oh, crap! There is another one! You know, the whole, “you can’t have sex with other women.” Geeze. I’m a monster.
So I did what any reasonable, harried mother preparing for an epic Harry Potter birthday party would do: I told him to put it up in the Care of Magical Creatures room.
Then I told L~ (the professional batter of eyelashes who was with her father when all of this rule breaking went down) that I thought Tinkerbelle was not a good name for a black niffler. Stress and a big witch hat make me abruptly honest that way. So the name is Niffie, unless you’re Quinn, in which case the name is Miffie.
Now for the condensed party stuff:
- Wand Shop
- Introduction of professors: Prof. Egregious Dingbang, potions maser and head of Slytherin House; Prof. Mellisa Raven, Head of Gryffindor and care of magical creatures teacher; Prof. Callie Elwood, professor of herbology and head of Ravenclaw; Prof. Lily Lillivander, teacher of charms and head of Hufflepuff; and Headmistress Auriferie Calypso, transfiguration teacher, photographer, and frazzled 40-year-old woman.
- The sorting hat. No Slytherins. So sorry, Prof. Dingbang.
- Everyone did transfiguration together. We used our wands to transfigure a large, flat, black surface on the wall into a moving picture with music. Good thing my wand is actually a remote control. To clarify: my remote control looks exactly like a wizard wand. Seriously fun to do with a bunch of little kids.
- Houses went to the different classes and we rotated every 15 minutes or so. Charms class made charm bracelets, herbology class made those dirt cup desserts with ice cream and crushed Oreos, potions class made flubber, and care of magical creatures class used crafty supplies (and some sticks) to make up their own magical creature (if you’re paying close attention, you realize we have 4 classes and three houses – each teacher had a period off to go do another class if they wanted, or to be my slave for 15 minutes. Whichever)
- Once everyone had been through all the classes, Prof. Elwood ran up and down the stairs into the classrooms telling everyone that there was a dementor on the quidditch field.
- This is where the party was supposed to move outside, but couldn’t. Getting so. tired. of snow. Anyway, everyone went down to the room of requirement for a quick defense against the dark arts lesson, and then we went into the big storage area of the basement to beat the snot out of a dementor piñata and play quidditch (relay race on brooms). Gryffindor won.
- Up to the great hall for the end of year feast (cauldron cakes, butter beer, and dirt cups) and present opening.
- As the kids left I gave them their graduation certificates (someday, when I’m not sloth-butt lazy, I’ll post those, too), and they got candy from Honeydukes (we converted the want shop while they were in class, and everybody got chocolate frogs, fizzing whizbees, and the candy from the piñata).
Between all the stuff they made, the wands, the certificates, and the candy, one girl told her mom, “I’ve got so much stuff, I feel like it’s my birthday!”
Shwoo. She doesn’t know it, but that’s the best compliment I could have gotten, even though she hasn’t the faintest idea what any of her crap is all about since she isn’t allowed to read the books or watch the movies. Or maybe she just isn’t allowed to watch the movies and hasn’t read the books. Who knows?
And now? I’m seeing my future again, and in it I’m a barber. McH’s hair is getting a little too vampire-ish for his taste, and the vampire hair deal ended years ago.
Tewt the Newt is down stairs warning the niffler about Blue Barb.