Mary could only invite five girls. Seemed like 500 anyway. . .
They came home from school wild! Screaming actually. I glanced at the bottle of cabernet on the counter but alas. . . this was Mary's party.
We started with snack. Fruit, salami and cheese on shish kabobs. Yum. A big success. There were no vegetarians here, five girls inhaled two pounds of salami. One sweet friend went to refill her lemonade and upon opening the freezer exclaimed, "You all must be rich! Look at all that ice!" Yes, Bill and I invested in a faucet early in our marriage and it's really paid off. Now we have ice cubes enough to share with everybody. Never a warm drink around here.
On to Color Me Mine. . . the girls all calmed down and settled into painting. Bill's sister helped me play chauffeur and keep everyone's colors from running. Well, almost everyone.
Home for a scavenger hunt--initiated by Calvin. He wrote all the clues in poetic form and hid all the treats. The girls were getting quite a thrill out of teasing him by singing the "Black Socks" song. What else are big brothers for? Tease all you want, Mary, but this is the boy you have to live with for the next five years.
Chicken and cupcakes and ice cream--then on to the sewing project. I glanced at the wine again--but instead commenced to threading six needles. And sewing 12 french knots for eyes. . . and six fluffy tails.
There were some minor frustrations along the way. As one sweet little angel in the form of a nine-year-old girl's needle came loose for the ninth time--while sewing around her little sweet little blue fleece bunny--she exclaimed loudly in her little nine-year-old voice, "This really sucks the big balls."
I do not look up from the tenth french knot. Bill does not look up from washing dishes at the sink. We do not meet eyes under any circumstances. The other girls are unfazed. Well duh. She must have meant playground balls. I say nothing. Please pass the scissors. Mary reached over and threaded the angel's needle.
There was the whole nightlight versus no night light and fan versus no fan shakedown. I set up zones and the girls settled in their sleeping bags according to their sleep needs. . . never mind my sleep needs.
There was talk of who likes who. There was talk about how chocolate makes you fat. I had hoped to postpone the whole fat skinny thing a few more years--maybe for forever, but, if you really want to go there girls. . . let's talk about the salami first. I say nothing. That's another blog. . .
Along with the superficial hoopla there was also some serious talk. My grandma has cancer. My grandpa had that same cancer. My grandpa had cancer too. No drama--just the facts and please pass the yellow paint. . .
Highs, lows, chocolate cupcakes, crushes, fat, skinny, a little profanity, a little help threading each other's needles, sharing sad news, a few little white lies (your horse actually looks good with that black blob of paint), and a little tolerance for the sake of everyone being able to sleep. . .
Friends in training. I'd say they are off to a good start.
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