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The party seems to go on long after all the 5-year-olds have gone home
By Debbie Farmer
'You pulled off a great birthday party," my husband said as he closed the door behind the last 5-year-old child. "All the kids had fun."
"Yes. Fun." I said, as I sat down for the first time since breakfast. "Would you like ice cream with your cake?"
He looked around, confused. "I just finished some, thanks." He shrugged. "See, you were worried about a house full of 5-year-olds for nothing."
"Yes. Nothing." I leaned back in the chair. "How about a balloon poodle?"
"What?"
"All right, you can have the balloon sword, just don't hold it over the birthday candles after they're lit."
"Honey," he said. "It's OK. Everybody's gone. The party's over."
"Gone?" I said. "Where? They'd better not be upstairs trying to send the cat down the laundry chute again. Vanilla or chocolate?"
"You just lie down and rest a while," he said, leading me to the sofa.
"But it's game time!," I cried. "For goodness sake hang the piñata before the clown leaves and the kids want to sit on the good furniture. I'll get the video camera in case someone smiles."
"Just relax." He pulled down the blinds.
"What are you doing?" I cried, reaching for the chord. "I can't see into the backyard. Open the blinds so I can make sure no one dresses the dog in my good lingerie again. Who's the tall, thin kid standing over there in the corner?"
"It's the halogen lamp." My husband eased me back onto the sofa.
"Mommy?" A tiny voice called from the doorway. "I'm thirsty."
"Oh, come in! I'm so glad you came." I turned to my husband. "Who's that?"
"That's our son," my husband said. "He lives here."
"The drinks are in the kitchen; it's down the hall to the left. Help yourself."
My husband placed a warm towel on my forehead. "Would you like some music?"
"On the count of three--after I light the candles."
He gently patted my arm. "There, there."
"Where's the short kid who couldn't find the bathroom? I haven't seen him since noon." I grabbed my husband's hand. "Do you hear a flushing sound?"
He shook his head.
"It must be the kazoos ringing in my ears," I said. "I'm going to clear a spot to open the presents before the parents start arriving. Just make sure no one tapes the bows to the cat."
"But ... ."
"You don't want a repeat of last year, do you? It took me hours to cut the adhesive out of her fur, and the neighbors thought we got a French poodle."
"Mommy?"
"Yes, Sweetpea? The bathroom's upstairs to the right. Check for a lost little boy while you're there." I paused. "By the way, have you met the rest of the family?"
"What's wrong with Mom? She's been like this since the candles wouldn't light and the cat licked the cake."
"Post-traumatic birthday syndrome," he whispered.
"Huh?"
"I read it's a reaction some mothers have after hosting a party at home for their children," he explained.
"Why is she feeding cake to the lamp?"
"I'm not sure, but don't worry," he said. "I bet with plenty of rest, she'll forget all about it and be good as new by Christmas."
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Willow Glen, California Since 1992
