After the party 

Pointy party hats, empty soda cans, and crusty cheese greeted me this Sunday morning when I tiptoed down the hallway to the kitchen. Didn’t want to wake anyone up, because I’m much in need of mommy time, and a little bit more banana birthday cake.

My son’s third birthday party is behind me. It’s the only time I’ll ever celebrate that marvelous little boy’s third year. I kept the party to family and his best friend, and I’m happy I did that. It was enough for both me and him.

I called my mom the night before the big day and got Dad on the line instead.

Well, I said, I think I’ve gotten carried away.

That’s okay, came the reply, it only happens once a year, and before you know it, there won’t be any more little boy birthdays to celebrate.

That was all the affirmation I needed to press on with party preparations, which required about a two-day sprint to pull off. It’s not that I went overly elaborate. But with a three-year-old and new baby in the house, having company takes that much effort. Party hats, party blowers, hamburgers, a monster truck cake, and cool party favors including pet worms were the extent of it. My husband gratefully nixed the homemade ice cream a half hour before the party started. Breyer’s filled in nicely.

My little boy’s third birthday is over, and I’ll look back with no regrets.

Got to go. I hear my son’s new Mack truck coming down the hallway.

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