Success through Denial

I don't know why denial gets such a bad rap.  It is an invaluable tool in my day-to-day life.  I ought to go on a speaking circuit about it. Everyone will be happier, I just know it. 

So.  I told Ben he could invite 6 kids to his birthday party.  Fine, he comes up with 5 boys and Rhiannon.  Well, if you're inviting her, you probably ought to invite one more girl, so he adds Jenn.  But since Rhiannon's coming, he wants Owen--her big brother, whom he loves--to come too.  And if Rhiannon and Owen are invited, we have invite their little brother Aiden, who is in Lily's class.  And then he invited Molly without asking me.  And if Molly comes, her two sisters will come up too.  Oh, and Ben has two sisters of his own who happen to live here.  Party day came and the kids just kept coming.  One after another.  My house was turning into a clown car.  In the end, there were 14 kids in my weeny little house.

Oh, and it's a Star Wars party, so they all have lightsabers.

How do I get to the panic point for every birthday?  God knows each child begins planning his/her next party shortly after the last guest is pushed out the door.  But I have my buddy Denial.  She protects me, keeps me from worry.  Enables me to ignore the constant and unreasonable planning.  Makes it so that I don't notice that 14 kids are going to be here.  We only were inviting 6, right?  I can do 6.  I plan a few simple games, make a pinata (okay, I also totally forgot to make a pinata until Friday.  So I had to blow dry it, trying to get it dry in time to load with candy).  (And yes, I make the pinata.  It's easy, I swear.  AND it actually breaks when whacked.  I've been to many birthday parties and I have never, ever seen a store bought pinata that opens when whacked.  Each is rent in two by the enraged birthday dad and its contents scattered on the ground.), make a cake.  Ben decorates it with Legos, so even that is low stress.

I've cut a bunch of fabric rectangles with holes in the middle to be worn as tunics, tied with a rope.  Instant Jedi!  As each child came in, I gave him or her a tunic and a lightsaber and directed the child to the dining room for droid making.  I just dumped a bunch of junk on the table.  Easy. Wicked cute.


But then, as they finished their droids, they started wandering away.  Armed.  We began tipping toward utter chaos.  I was able to direct them into a keep-the-balloon-off-the-ground-with-your-lightsaber game.


But again, they began to wander away....Steve gets them corralled for "Yoda says" ("Put your arm in the air, you will").  We let them stomp on balloons to find the stormtrooper picture hidden in one...and then they were gone.  Suddenly there were 14 screaming kids, ranging in age from 4-12, waving sticks in the air and running.  I hid in the kitchen and went to my Happy Place.  Caroline sat, amidst the cacaphony, perusing a 1939 World's Fair catalog:


But this, this is what you like to see at a children's party:



Steve, bless 'im, redirected the energy (and saved poor Owen), by emerging in a Vader mask (and well-padded coat):




Every now and then, I'd have one of those moments of clarity and I'd realize how much noise and activity there was, but my denial skills allowed me to sink back into oblivion.  We got through cake:

(note the Hannukah candles on the cake.  that's all I had.  I was about to stick 7 tealights on his cake when I remembered the Hannukah candles.)

We got the pinata whacked.  It's supposed to be this round droid thing that shoots green lasers.  I am aware that it looks like a Dr. Suess coconut.



Candy spilled, was consumed, fighting resumed.  Tears resulted.  Parents came....It went well.  They seemed to have a blast.  I didn't need wine until much later that night.  All because I have my mad denial skillz.  Learn at the feet of the master, my friends.