Fine. I admit it.

Fine. Yes, after Peanut’s birthday party I piped the extra frosting onto toast to eat during a Top Chef marathon.

Okay, I’ll admit it: I packed as many books as I could into a huge box because this time we’re paying someone to move us and I want my money’s worth.

Yes. You caught me. I actually drove one of my children to his first soccer practice, which thereby begins my tenure as a soccer mom. And as we drove home and I realized this, I threw up in my mouth a little.

Fine, I’ll come clean about yelling at my husband during our five-year old’s birthday party. Okay, I yelled at my mom, too. And almost one of the kids. But he did kick me. The kid, not my husband. The latter’s only primary sin was putting the cupcakes I had meticulously decorated with four colors of handmade cream cheese icing into a cool oven for safe keeping. On the top rack. While it was in broiler position. So when I rushed to the kitchen for cupcakes to keep the five-going-on-feral children from destroying my house and each other, I ruined all the frosting pulling them out. Totally my fault. Except clearly his fault. Everyone knows you leave the cupcakes on the counter where the cat would never dream of licking them, or the fridge where the baby would never stick his hand in and pull them to the floor. Not that the cat got to the ice cream sandwiches, nor the baby to the grilled cheese. No. Of course not.

And that is why I’m carefully applying icing only toast. Not because I have a stress eating problem. Because I have Post Traumatic Birthday Party Stress Disorder and need to do something right today.

Now where are those candy eyeballs so I can make this toast look like a friendly, animated, ass-enlarging monster?

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11 thoughts on “Fine. I admit it.

  1. Darling, eat that frosting without remorse. Birthday parties for children are the 9th ring of Hell.

    ps: I totes would have yelled at Hubs, too.
    pps: a little kid kicked you? Cretin.

  2. I’m not sure if I should tell the cat, the husband, or the grilled cheese to PACK YOUR KNIVES AND GO!

    You’re moving too? The best place to put books is in the bottom of the dressers so they don’t tip over during the drive. It’s the only thing textbooks are good for real. And doorstops.

  3. Dude…cream cheese frosting on toast sounds like carb heaven…Don’t even think of defacing that masterpiece with those freaky eyeball candies…Make a happy face with the frosting, yo.

    For the record, children’s birthday parties serve only one purpose other than draining parents of their money and patience, and that is to reaffirm your belief that other people’s children are demonic and therefore, far worse than your own offspring…Just sayin’…

    Hope you aren’t going too mad with the move…hang in there Nap…

  4. Oh my stars, y’all. I thought a birthday party would be no big deal. And that a birthday party in the middle of a move would be fine. I planned projects, crafts, games, food, and a Birthday Egg Hunt, the geniusest of all genius ideas. But somehow they were climbing the walls and ripping their faces off to reveal ghoulish cores within 30 minutes of an interminable two hours.
    Shudder.

    @Kitch he was allegedly getting off the couch when he kicked me in the head. And I allegedly spoke softly in warm tones whilst giving him the stink eye.

    @jc my Organic Chem book comes in handy at least once a year. When I try to remember why theobromine doesn’t help as much as caffeine.

    @Gibby it was awesome. Cream cheese blended with powdered sugar. Then one batch had cherry preserves, one had lemon zest, one had fresh blueberries and one had vanilla. One flavor per piece of toast, of course. I’m not a Neanderthal.

    @Maria I don’t know why I thought I was the only one horrified by all the children, especially my own. They are on their worst behavior at parties, it seems. And next year, Spouse and I have decreed, it’s gonna be in a public place. And no parental bystanders in case we need to beat other people’s children.

    @Kloppenmum oh, nothing about my strange eating habits should surprise you. In college my roommate and I tried putting melted brown sugar and butter on every carb in the house, on the off chance that it was the secret to eternal bliss. Do not try on pasta or chips. Just not good. Toast, though, can be an efficient delivery system for any sweet goo. I’m just impressed I toasted the bread. Been known to slather sugary goo on plain bread given sufficient sources of stress.

    I have to be honest. I’m not sure I’m hanging in there. But as long as you can’t *actually* knock yourself into a coma by hitting your head against the wall while keening that you want a new life, I think I’ll be okay.

  5. For eldest’s birthday party, we only invited kids from his very small preschool class to our house for pizza and cake. The problem? All those kids are special needs kids, so it was kind of a special Olympics birthday party. The parents stayed, for which I was very grateful. They know their kids’ issues, and I don’t, so it was good to have the extra support. Plus, we parents all got to commiserate on having special needs kids. We concluded, with knowing shrugs and crooked grins, that it is *mostly* worth it. The party ended with me wishing we special needs folks got together more often. We’re mostly too busy dealing with our issues.

  6. Is it that before children (BC?) we feel as unique as a snowflake and then when we become mothers we are reduced to performing the same drear shit over and over? Is that what’s so hard to swallow, like the little mouthful of puke?

    I need to get through every birthday party with breathing exercises and a little mantra in my head that goes “This will be over in two hours” until it ends. And I have trouble forgiving myself for that.

  7. I commented. It disappeared. Harrumph, blogosphere.

    Basically was commiserating since am having PTBPSD too. And also, applauded your brilliance. As usual. xoxo

  8. dude we moved on dec 4. nov 28 we had a 5th birthday party. none of it was pretty. margaritas is the only way we got through. I had 2 before it started. it started at 11. I have a low tolerance. I apparantly also have a seasonal drinking problem. toast with icing could be my answer.

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