We went to a birthday party last weekend, for my wonderful niece T’s first birthday. The party was at her dad’s house, and he lives about an hour and a half away, so we packed the kids in to the car and headed out.
Before we even got to partying, Dash peed under a freeway overpass. We had him go before we left, but anything over a 30 minute car ride, and we can almost guarantee he’ll have to go. He’s been potty trained for about 6 months or so, and doesn’t wear any pullups or anything anymore, so when he tells us he has to go, it means now, unless we want him to pee everywhere. Of course he doesn’t tell us while we’re passing anything remotely convenient, but when there are no easy stops for miles. It’s times like these that I am so glad we have boys. We pulled to an underpass with barriers that Bear could take him behind to relieve himself in some tall grass, and then came back to the car and announced, “I love peeing on grass!” Out of curiosity, I looked up the law in Washington state, and apparently public urination charges only apply to 13 year olds and up. Whew, I’m not raising a criminal.
Once there, Ozzie kept sneaking into the ice chest and putting pieces of ice into his pockets, which led to cold wet spots all over his shirt and pants. Dash kept sneaking cheese from the sandwich tray, then handing off half eaten slices to the little ones, who invariably slobbered all over it and then left it somewhere. I kept an eye out for these gems and tried to prevent any bits from being ground into anything, but for all I know they’ll be finding old funky cheese bits secreted away in the nooks and crannies for the next month.
When T had her smash cake, they both saw an opportunity and went in for some as well, which led to them both being covered in frosting. Dash was moments away from making a sticky pink finger painting on the walls, but Bear and I ran interference, trading off on immobilizing them while the other was wiping them down. Even with the two of us tag-teaming the mess, the kids managed to slip back over to the cake a couple of times, and with doting Aunts as grinning accomplices, they had a second and third go at the cake, until mean mom made the fun come to an end.
I found myself reminiscing about the times when I attended get-togethers and simply enjoyed a bit of good food and good company. Back in those days, I only cleaned up my own spills, and they were much less common. If anyone followed me to the bathroom, it was a girlfriend sharing gossip, not a half-pint who wanted to high five me because he thinks a successful potty break needs celebration. I didn’t have to keep a watchful eye on anyone but whatever hottie was walking by. Those times were a far cry from the post-baby parties.
In this case, the company was great, there were cupcakes with bacon (nuff said), and still, despite the fact that chasing after them and keeping them from destroying someone’s home is tiring, they both crashed hard on the way home, and they look so sweet while they sleep. All in all? Worth it.