Birthdays To Remember
My mother is a pro at putting together birthday parties.  I grew up in the seventies and for new mommies of the time creative birthday parties came from one source, yourself.  Mothers just a few decades ago didn’t have the modern conveniences that we do today.  There weren’t multitudes of matching plates, napkins, cups, and party favors for any theme imaginable to buy at Target.  There was no Target, no Birthday Express, no Ebay.  You couldn’t Google “Kitty Cat Birthday” to see what came up.  When a child wanted an odd themed party, mothers had to get creative and plan the party from scratch.   

My fourth birthday was beyond memorable.  I was ahead of my time choosing to have a Cinderella themed birthday decades before the whole Disney Princess phenomena.  My cake was one of those doll cakes, the ones with the cheap Barbie in the middle with the cake being her dress.  When my mom pulled her out to cut the cake, all of the boys at the party giggled at her naked behind.  We wore crowns made from construction paper that my mom had traced from a Burger King crown and Disney songs filled the garage from a record we bought at Disneyland the summer before.  The festivities were held out in our garage, a great idea for keeping the mess out of your house, and my mom covered the cement with rolls of butcher paper to color on. The finale was when a friend of the family, dressed in a blue cape and carrying a wand made of aluminum foil, burst into the room and screamed, “Your Fairy Godmother is here!”  Small, crying children ran everywhere, clinging to their mothers’ necks for safety.  It was a grand affair.

 Just a few weeks ago, my oldest son turned four.  Planning for his party, suddenly I felt the pressure to measure up.  Working diligently as if planning a magnificent event for hundreds, I spent all week putting together party favors and ordering balloons.  Finally, the day before the party, I put my youngest down for a nap and popped in a movie for the other giving me the couple of hours I needed to bake the cake. 

 Before long my hands were covered in colored icing, along with my shirt and the floor where I had dribbled a little while filling the pastry bags.  My kitchen was a wreck, but I felt it was a small price to pay for creating a totally unique birthday experience. The cake still had a little longer to cool and I thought I would stay ahead of the game by rinsing out the bowls of icing that were starting to harden.  With my elbow, I attempted to turn on the water.  Nothing happened.  No water.  Not even a drop.  I stood there for a second and tried it again.  Nothing.  It was about that time that I heard the back door open as my husband arrived home.

 “Honey, something is wrong with the kitchen sink.”

 Soon everything that normally resides under the sink was all over my kitchen, next to the cake mess that I had previously been trying to clean.  After an hour of messing around with the pipes, my husband determined that it was a problem with the faucet.  After two trips to the hardware store and one call to his brother for advice, my husband told me to “hop online real quick” and choose a new faucet, which I did not have time for. I still had a cake to decorate, it was time for dinner and I could hear the baby starting to cry.  My stress level was hitting a new peak. 

 Taking a quick look at my watch, it was too late to call a bakery.  If my child was going to have a cake at his party, it was up to me.  I took a deep breath, but it didn’t help.  Enthralled with the happenings under the sink, both boys joined my husband and me in the kitchen.  The birthday boy begged for a bite of the lopsided cake, while the baby tugged at my leg to be held.  I attempted to write, ‘Happy Birthday’ which was turning out to look more like, ‘Haffy Burtlag.’  

 Around ten o’clock that night, I had a shiny new kitchen faucet and a birthday cake that looked like the birthday boy had decorated it himself.  The kitchen was a total mess and everyone, including the baby, was still awake.  I was beyond frustrated and disappointed that my perfect party might not be.  Suddenly, everything changed as the birthday boy drug a stool over to the counter to look at his cake.  A grin, that could only be described a humongous, appeared on his face.   

“Wow!  Look!  It’s my cake!”

 My son could care less what it looked like and I was quickly reminded why I started all of this in the first place.  Thank goodness birthdays only come once a year. 

To read more from Stephanie, visit her blog!

Mama Wants More
A column for today's mother who has it all and still wants more because you're a mother, a wife, a citizen, a consumer. You're unappreciated, underpaid, and over qualified for wiping bottoms & cleaning toilets. But this was your dream. This is what you always wanted. you love your life, but you still want more . Me too.