Hand in the cookie jar

Terrible week at work, which is why I've been MIA, but at least I survived A's third birthday, which I consider quite a feat.

As anyone who has a child knows, a birthday is not just a birthday but rather An Event. One that requires a ton of planning, preparation, and forced festivity along the lines of Clark Griswold's "We're gonna have so much fucking fun they're gonna need plastic surgeons to remove the smiles from our fucking faces. We'll be whistling zippity-doo-dah out of our assholes!"

In our case, we're lucky to still be able to get away with a family-only party, but that still involves 14 people descending upon our house (huh, my eye just started twitching again--that's odd), including my mother, whom you've already read about in the previous post. Plus, T was away for the entire preceding week, which meant some extra work and is also a relevant fact later in this post.

At any rate, we had all the bells and whistles, and spent a ton of money we don't have, but all went well and people seemed to have fun (although I don't think anyone needed plastic surgery). A got tons of toys as well as a lot of clothes, which she of course tossed aside in search of things that beep and sing. And naturally, if you ask her what her favorite present was, she'll cheerfully say, "Chocolate ice cream!" Something that I should keep in mind for next year before I go crazy for the 4th birthday party but that I know I won't, thus ensuring the perpetuation of the cycle of Birthday Madness.

However, as any parent of a child at daycare/school knows, there is not only the home birthday party but also the outside birthday to consider. If you're lucky, your child's birthday falls on a Saturday or a Sunday and it's not an issue. A's, of course, was on Monday. So in the midst of the party-planning frenzy, I also had to take into account the daycare birthday treats. By that point, I was heartily sick of frosting and decided to buy "festive" (M&M-laden) cookies homemade at the grocery store bakery. It took me a good five minutes to diligently count the number of cookies in each box because there are 16 kids in the class plus three teachers, and while you can hope that a few kids will be out, you can't rely on that, and of course, no self-respecting bakery would box 19 cookies--they seem stuck on counts of six, for some reason. But finally, I found one with 20 cookies and waltzed out satisfied that I'd gotten at least one thing checked off my list.

Or so I thought.

On Monday morning, the day after the family party, I staggered down to a kitchen still festooned with a personalized birthday banner and streamers hanging limply from all corners. I was up early and desperate for a cup of coffee because I had to shuttle Mom to the airport, which is 40 minutes away, and then turn right around and come back home to pick up A and take her, her sheets/blanket/lovey, and the cookies to daycare. As I blearily rummaged for a coffee cup, I saw, sitting on the counter, the box of daycare cookies sans six, their former spots marked by a few sad crumbs. My subsequent gasp was along the lines of "the horror! the HORROR!" as though I'd discovered that our roof was missing or that my car had been stolen. And I knew who the criminal was: T, who has a sweet tooth unrivaled by that of any man or woman alive.

At just that moment, he tripped happily downstairs and chirped, "Good morning!"

Me (giving him the steely eye of death): Do you know what you get to do today?

T (smile faltering): Uh, empty the dishwasher?

Me: Well, that too. But no. You get to go to Kroger and REPLACE THE COOKIES YOU ATE THAT WERE FOR YOUR DAUGHTER'S BIRTHDAY AT DAYCARE!!

T: What? (looks around wildly) But... but I didn't know. Other people were eating cookies yesterday!

Me: THOSE WERE DIFFERENT COOKIES!!

T: Oh.

It's true, there are points that both of us could offer up for the jury. In T's defense, yes, there were other cookies that my grandparents had brought and that other people were eating at the party. In mine, however, is that the daycare cookies were, in fact, different cookies--they looked nothing like the other cookies (remember, M&Ms?)--and that they were in a SEALED box next to my purse, which is where I leave anything that I have to take to work/daycare. Not to mention that there was still an entire half of a damned birthday cake left to sacrifice to his sweet tooth.

At any rate, he went to the grocery store, got some mini-cupcakes, and all was well. And really, in the grand scheme of things, my reaction of absolute horror and subsequent urge to kill were, yes, a bit much. But as a last exhibit in my defense, I blame Birthday Madness. I'm pretty sure that no jury comprised of parents would convict me.