I must be some sort of glutton for punishment. My kids ask to have parties outside of the home. Bowling, Jump Zones, Museums, The Aquarium. Each and every time, I convince them that a party at home would be so much more fun and original, and just when I’ve convinced myself of the opposite, they climb on board. What the hell is my problem? Everyone has parties at the same four places for good reason: They are painless. I’ve learned this house-gets-trashed-kids-are-insane-so-not-worth-it lesson before. Why can’t I seem to remember it?
And so it was: A spa-party at home. 14 of Lily’s closest friends came last night in PJs with an abundance of energy and enthusiasm. 140 nails were painted. 140 cheeks were covered in avocado masks, 14 heads of hair were brushed and braided and barretted. (yes, I made that a verb.) It was all the best parts of having a girl, and I really do love this stuff.
But, next year? I’ll love it at an outside venue where I don’t need to do all the planning, cooking and cleaning.
Or, more likely, you’ll just be reading an eerily similar post.
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