And then the smell of cinnamon scented pine cones wafted my way and the menacing mommy shopper disappeared for 32 seconds while I detoured to put one or two packages in my cart.
Because it's never too early for cinnamon scented pinecones.
Then it was game time again. I whizzed up and down the aisles (many of them multiple times- I decided x-ray vision scanning up and down four aisles was the tipping point at which it is no longer desirable to have sauerkraut), grabbed the most glamorous veggie tray I could find (note: was not very glamorous), two packages of meatballs, chips, spinach dip, cheese, and mini hotdogs assortments, and juice boxes for appetizing. I was very proud of my efficiency and shopping prowess (despite the sauerkraut) and got in line to check out. Luckily, in total Santa fashion, I checked my list one more time.
Cake. CAKE!
I turned the shopping cart around and headed back to the bakery section. Just grab a large cake and out we go! Except. Except. EXCEPT. Halloween. Halloween had totally consumed all things bakery. A (hellaciously hideous) spider web cake. A pumpkin cake. And three varieties of ugly-ass brown and orange fall leaf cakes. Not exactly gonna cut it for a one year old birthday party.
So I went back to the aisles and bought boxed cakes and frosting containers. Hey, this could still work! I was starting to get cocky. I can make a bad ass homemade beautiful cake. And all the parents will be like, "look at that working mom. She actually MADE her own cake. And it's AMAZING." You know, something like this:
And I slaved away mixing eggs and oil into that boxed cake mix before pouring it into a cake pan. And I set the timer. And it cooked perfectly. I was already raving about the beauteous cake that was going to be artfully crafted before my very eyes.
Except. Except. EXCEPT.
It looked like a toddler had carefully shat all over it to spell a well-intentioned birthday greeting.
Should have bought that hellaciously hideous spider
And, my friends, from there the homemade theme kinda went down hill. I tried to make majestic hanging clouds by hot glue gunning quilt batting onto paper lanterns. It looked like Frosty the Snowman got tangled in a lawn mower, died, and someone hung his body from the ceiling as a warning to other snowmen.
I also tried to make a tulle garland. But after two hours, I only got about ten feet of a stringy, sad looking garland. Although it doesn't look like it, I promise that no ballerinas were assaulted in the making of this garland.
And finally, I tried to make a paper airplane garland. It worked out ok. But I'm no origami ninja and several nights of toiling away folding little bastard sheets of gold paper yielded ONE measly strip of garland that was really too heavy to hang anywhere.
At least my fireplace looks nice. I painted the brick last weekend.
At that point, I was kind of like "screw pinterest worthy parties." I didn't even bother with some of the fancy kid games and activities I had originally planned. I threw some empty moving boxes in the basement and shooed the kids down to play as guests arrived. We served Papa John's pizza, appetizers, and cans of Fresca and soda and called it a party.
That's pretty much what you get when you're a third child. But don't worry Jon, 18 years of spoiling you rotten as the baby should offset these rag-tag third child birthday parties.
At least he thoroughly enjoyed the poop cake. At first, he ate it so daintily. Well, as daintily as possible with plastic cutlery.
Then he gave up and began fisting it into his mouth. Which, I might add, is the only appropriate way to eat cake when it's your birthday.
At the point, the cutlery was only used for cramming as much frosting-covered spongey goodness into his mouth as possible. CAKE. GLORIOUS CAKE!
"What? Is there something on my face or something?"
Happy Birthday Jon Jon!!
And here are our perfectly imperfect, frienzied family photos.
Peace out. And always beware of The Pinterest.
You're awesome
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