Tomorrow is Ethan's sixth birthday. They celebrate birthdays at his school. Which means that the moms (the PC term here might be "parent" but - c'mon - I think we can all agree this is 100% Mom Territory) send in small favors and birthday treats. And by this, I mean, handcrafted toys painted with silver dust and cupcakes that would make the spawn of Martha Stewart and Emeril cry. And then beg for the recipe.
I profess to be this laid-back mom who does not buy into this sort of stuff. So I just spent the past three hours tying little bows on miniature flower pots containing miniature dirt and miniature sunflower seeds. The pots have coordinating ribbon attaching HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ETHAN homemade tags with handwritten original poems on the inside fold: I am six, yes it is true! So here is a flower, just for you! (Eat your heart out, Whitman). For snack, I am sending in Rice Krispy treats - thirty - which have been manipulated into the shape of capital "E"s.
To Jeff's credit, I got only an eyebrow raise - but no actual comment - when he walked in the door and found me coated with glitter and marshmallow fluff (*not in the sexy way) and hacking away at defenseless Rice Krispy bits with a surgical intensity that would make Dr. Oz proud. Thank you, J, for that. And I would advise not touching me tonight, or tomorrow, or the day after that, because I think I am going to be a bit sticky, at least until this marshmallow veneer wears off.
I profess to be this laid-back mom who does not buy into this sort of stuff. So I just spent the past three hours tying little bows on miniature flower pots containing miniature dirt and miniature sunflower seeds. The pots have coordinating ribbon attaching HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ETHAN homemade tags with handwritten original poems on the inside fold: I am six, yes it is true! So here is a flower, just for you! (Eat your heart out, Whitman). For snack, I am sending in Rice Krispy treats - thirty - which have been manipulated into the shape of capital "E"s.
To Jeff's credit, I got only an eyebrow raise - but no actual comment - when he walked in the door and found me coated with glitter and marshmallow fluff (*not in the sexy way) and hacking away at defenseless Rice Krispy bits with a surgical intensity that would make Dr. Oz proud. Thank you, J, for that. And I would advise not touching me tonight, or tomorrow, or the day after that, because I think I am going to be a bit sticky, at least until this marshmallow veneer wears off.
A line must be drawn, however, so I decided to cancel the elephant rides. Because that is just excessive. And then what would the kid look forward to for his seventh birthday?
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