The Party That Wasn't

Last night we had Chinchita's third birthday party at our home.  Or, to be more accurate, we tried to have her birthday party.  We had all the things you should have: a homemade princess cake, a homemade princess piñata, princess paper goods, and 28 friends and family (11 of whom were under the age of 13). 

October birthdays are a bit unfortunate in my family to begin with.  My parents, aunt and uncle, and sister all work in plant-related industries that generate a great deal of the year's income in the fall.  Most notably Columbus Day weekend, where Chinchita's birthday falls. 

To accommodate family as much as possible, we pushed the party back a week.  And made it on a Friday night.  Not perfect, but the best we could arrange.  Starting a party at 6pm for a girl who goes to bed at 7pm is a bit sketchy to start, but I figured my girl could handle it. 

Yesterday also happened to be her three-year exam . . . complete with flu shot.  No problem!  We did the doctor thing in the morning, both kids were wiped out and took long naps while I decorated the cake, and I let them watch Hatari! while I finished cleaning the house.  (The movie is almost as long as my cleaning endeavors, so it was a good choice!  It's also one of my all-time favorites!)

I was just finishing up washing floors when my ex's parents arrived.  Chinchita, excited to show off her princess paper goods, slipped on the wet floor and fell on her back.  A little crying, and she was off to explore the bike that came in with Grammy and Pop.  I put the dogs in my bedroom--my sister-in-law and niece are highly allergic--and the barking commenced. 

By the time my neighbors arrived, the dogs were getting on my nerves with their incessant barking, so I banished them to the barn.  It was well past start-the-party time and over half the guests were missing, mostly due to an expected freeze that necessitated extra covering of plants and produce at the farm.  We corralled the four kids who were present for supper--sort of--and then set them loose again. 

The house quickly turned into mayhem.  I pulled out Twister.  (Have you ever played Twister with four kids under the age of five?!  Pretty funny . . . especially since they are not physically large enough to simultaneously manage "right hand: red; left foot green."  They were quiet while trying, though!) 

Finally the rest of the kids arrived, and we pulled out the piñata.  I had located one of the kids' plastic baseball bats, which is perfect for piñata-pummelling.  Unfortunately, between the time my ex's parents arrived and the kids arrived, I had lost it.  Couldn't find it anywhere.  That's okay.  I found a stick Ranita had left on the patio, and we used that. 

Kids had a blast. 

It was getting late, so I decided to move things along.  I called, "Where's Chinchita?  Let's do presents." 

Just then I saw her standing next to the couch wearing a distressed expression.  I dropped on my knees and asked, "Honey, are you okay?  What's the matter?"

She put a hand on her stomach, and in the smallest possible voice said, "My stomach hurts."  Then she explosively vomited all over me.  I am so not exaggerating!  From my shoulder to my feet: covered in grossness. 

Naturally, I swept her into my arms and brought her into the bathroom.  I set her in the tub and started stripping her for a shower, as she also was rather gross.  She says, "I so sorry, Mommy, for throwing up on you!" 

What a sweetie!  I assured her that it was okay . . . you can't really call yourself a Mom until you've been puked on by your kids.  After cleaning her, my sister whisked her out so I could clean myself.  I stood in the shower yelling, "Sis, can you grab me some clothes from my room?" 

I forgot until getting into bed later that night just what a tall order that was.  In addition to my bedroom set, my little bedroom was also housing a box of "I Support RI Agriculture" license plate covers, our punching bag, a basket of clean laundry, and my Dyson.  And no light switch . . . just two lamps you must first navigate said mine field to utilize.  And she still got me clothes that fit.  What a gal!

By the time I emerged clean and nice-smelling, my mom and my neighbor had cleaned up the vomit, the kids were outside playing with adult supervision, and my daughter looked ready to puke again.  I called the doctor and took my little one to her bedroom.  While I lay comforting her, somebody played hostess and distributed cake.  (No one was in the mood to handle ice cream, so I have LOTS of ice cream in my freezer!) 

My daughter fell asleep in time for me to crawl out of her bunk and wave good-bye to my guests.  Except my parents, who stayed to help clean up a little longer.  The doctor finally got back to me and confirmed it sounded like a reaction to the flu shot.  At least we weren't headed to the ER for CT scans! 

As my brother-in-law was leaving, I gave him a hug and said, "Well, at least you can say a Castrataro party is never forgettable!" 

He replied, "Oh yeah.  I sure won't be forgetting this one!"

Yeah.  Me neither!