Ben’s 5th birthday party was today. Despite all my efforts to make it the best party ever, it went down, without a doubt, as the worst party I have ever thrown. Perhaps the worst party ever attended. By anyone. Ever.
It was off to a bad start when the Spiderman I hired arrived 30 minutes late. Rather than being met with gasps and squeals as I had hoped, he was met with screams of “you’re not real!” from room of four and five year olds. Instead of coming armed with super training equipment like we talked about, he was empty handed and had no idea what to do with the group. He couldn’t even muster up a decent game of tag. The kids spent the whole time trying to undress him and he was less than amused. Everyone was looking at their watches just waiting for it to end. It was pretty awful. To put it mildly.
But, Ben had a blast. He loved having his friends over, he loved making the capes, he loved the lame-ass Spiderman and he loved his cupcakes. He was just as happy as I hoped he would be. My sweet, sweet big little boy.
So, what the hell was my problem? Ben was the person I threw the whole party for. His sweet little smile was all that really mattered, so what was the big deal? Why was I, someone who can find humor in most anything, entirely unamused by this situation? Not only was I not amused, but I was mad as hell. Mad, sad and disappointed. Yes, after it was over, I may have cried.
And it all made me wonder: Who was I really trying to impress? The parents who were there? The other kids? My husband? You guys? Probably a mixture of all the above, but why I’m not really sure. Today was all about Ben and he was the happiest little boy in the world, just like I wanted him to be.
It seems that someone may have little growing up to do.