Lesson learned...the hard way

Shannon's a fancy girl.

She needs the glitz, the glamour, the pizazz to accompany all her sass. I call her Ms Sassafras, mostly to avoid calling her other names that, while fitting, would not be approved under my new Love and Logic experiment.

This need for all that jazz drove me to...shall we say OVER DO...her first birthday party.

Oh, I still cringe at the thought. Can't look at pictures. Vowed to never host another one of those bleepedy bleep shenanigans again. That's right. I said bleepedy bleep. Now you know I mean business.

In case you were fortunate enough to miss that train wreck, count your blessings and enjoy this photo montage....

Yes it was that bad.

No, it was worse.

A picture's worth a 1,000 words, but those don't scratch the surface.

Ah, the horror.

But I'm not dwelling on the past.

Parties are like childbirth, time heals all wounds and erases the searing pains into oblivion.

I could only venture forth if I made one promise to myself and kept it.

Simplify. Simplify. Simplify.

Invitations from Dollar Tree. Hot tub in basement. Barbie from Redbox if one needed a break from swimming. Popcorn. Cake. Ice cream. Balloons. Done.

It was slightly painful. But I held back. Exercised some rare self restraint. No coordinating plates, napkins, cups, silverware, etc. Ends up in the trash anyways. But, none the less, I wanted it. But there in lies the root of my previous transgression. I wanted it. Me. Not Ms Sassafras. Yeah she might notice it, but in reality, details are lost on children.

Now our little girl made her entrance into the world between that chaotic time right after Thanksgiving and just before Christmas. A wonderful time, but what does your calendar look during those weeks?

A mess.

But before you feel too sorry for her ill timed birth, take note that we have scheduled parties before the Thanksgiving break, thus stretching her festivities over the course of a week. However, still not enough for Ms Sassafras. She informed me the day before the party that she wanted a surprise. Something special. I didn't give it a second thought until Steve called that day with 4 VIP tickets to the Christmas breakfast and parade.

Continuing on...Parade time during party. Darn. But, the wheels started spinning and my couponing brain turned this breakfast at a fancy hotel downtown into "Ms Sassafras' " surprise. Oh my, how fancy she felt loading her plate with breakfast delights and ordering OJ and chocolate milk. Mama kinda liked it too. Really liked it. Warm breakfast. Full belly. No dishes. Heaven.

We had a moment to check out the behind the scenes parade action. Really bummed about missing the 8 John Deere tractors pulling Santa's sleigh. I love Iowa. We'll plan better next year.

Onto the party.

My theory.

Stand back and let em' do their thang.

Apparently their "thang" involved splashing and squealing which Adam has taken a liking to.Cake from a mix. Not my standard for a birthday cake but it was fanciful, tasty, and the chicks almost never finish it anyways.

And isn't it really about the presents? That's all they care about.

In conclusion here are my new found philosophies on throwing a child's birthday party.

Simplify! I did have a moment or two of panic thinking that I might be jumping to the other extreme to defy my previous indiscretion. But in the end, they're girls. Nothing ever changes. No matter how old they get, they enjoy being together. End of story. Isn't that a part of Relief Society? Fellowship.

Fortunately for Adam, I have successfully survived a positive birthday party experience and he has a greater chance to enjoy one for himself in the future. However, little boys scare me. So maybe not in the near future.

The look of defiance

Where have I been you ask?

Steam cleaning? Tons of it.

Why you ask?

Because of this little lumberjack. What you see before you is the look of defiance.

But he's so cute you say....

Cute, yes. But it's cute compensation. Compensation to make up for times when he's rotten, no good, or down right defiant. Times when he's being "Love and Logic'd"

That's the other place I've been.

Love and Logic classes. Loads of them.

Jim Fay, you're my hero.

What's Love and Logic you ask?

Here's the rundown. Kid does something wrong. You sing the "uh oh" song and kid goes to their room until they are sweet. Now here is where we butt heads. Where Adam struggles and I pray for the stamina to endure to the end. He's more of a "wide open spaces"/free spirit/don't tell me what to do woman kinda kid. He's too smart for his own good.

Despite the bare room he has acquired due to his inability to repress the desire to chuck every toy at the wall, he's managed to create his own form of open rebellion/protest using the only thing he has left...himself. Every "uh oh" song ended the same.... bare bum next to multiple dark puddles on the carpet.

Day after day.

But I remained calm. Sort of. And I remained consistent. Much to his dismay, the "uh oh" song continued, so little dude kicked it up a notch. Wiping his unmentionables with his irreplaceable snuggy bear. The only item that will put him to sleep. The item by which I schedule my loads of laundry around. Snuggy must be washed immediately after breakfast so as to be available for the afternoon nap. It's a delicate balance and little punk knows it. After dancing this routine a few times, I handed the paper towels over and said U DO IT! His response. "No Yucky!"

Ya think?

Tough kid, do it.

I'll spare you the details of further encounters, but it's safe to assume he kicked those encounters up a notch as well.

I thought I had him now.

But no. I was outwitted by a two year old who thinks snowmen are called cookies, frosted mini wheat's are pumpkins, and butter is honey.

Note to self...work on those before kindergarten so that he's not pegged as "that kid born in TN."

Back to reality...how does a toddler get out of cleaning up his excrement? Checkout. Mentally, physically, emotional. Pass out. Refuse to wake up when Mom taps you. Look like an angel. An angel next to a puddle of pee. Either way, it worked.

Update...after consistent reinforcement and a slight fear of the steam cleaner, Adam has chosen to keep his diaper on tight. When the words "uh oh" exit my mouth, he now runs to his room and closes the door.

Finally, sweet success. Now I can look at this face with greater love. Because honestly, those eyes are my eyes and I gotta look at myself in this mirror image everyday. I love myself.