Life with a Party Girl
By: Jean Reidy

"Mom, if I have the 'Winter Beach Bash' birthday party, can my friends still sleep over?" Molly, my nine-year-old, asks.

"Huh?" I'm studying the pantry shelves hoping for divine dinner inspiration.

"You know - more friends, no sleepover; fewer friends, sleepover." She reminds me of my birthday "sanity-saver" rule.

"Oh." I answer. She follows me to the cookbooks. I pull Desperation Dinners from the shelf. She ponders this briefly.
 
"Hmm. If I do have the beach party, can you and I can make the 'Smiling Sun' cake?" I'm trying to focus on "Mind-the-Clock Chicken Marsala," but in my face, Molly waves a magazine cutout of a yellow-frosted, triple-layered, sugar-crystalled concoction with a licorice smile and perfect, triangular rays. A cake, I know, this desperate chef could recreate only with the help of Julia Child and Pythagoras.
 
"I can't think about that now, Honey."

She ignores me. "I think I will have the 'Beach Bash,' and invite maybe ten friends. We can all wear swimsuits. It'll be so much fun." She skips from the room humming “Happy Birthday.” Should I be fretting about baking that complicated cake, or listening to ten little girls shrieking "Surfin' Safari," or the fact that Molly's birthday is in January, so sending them all outside to burn off their "Smiling Sun" sugar high, under the smiling sun, is unlikely? Of course not. I'm calmly pouring rice.

You see, Molly's birthday is 335 days away.

But that makes no difference to her. She’s got birthday on the brain. Good thing her Mom doesn't share her obsession. After all, someone has to cook dinner.

Molly is my youngest. When my oldest was born the day after Christmas, I was determined to not lose his birthday amid the trees and tinsel. So I hosted home-based extravaganzas - Astronaut Adventure parties, Mystical Magic parties, Cartoon Carnival parties - with that neurotic touch of "first-child mommy mania."

When my second son was born a year and a half later, the parties continued, but my enthusiasm was tempered by two-child fatigue and time challenges. Still, I hosted Dinosaur Dig parties, Backwards Blast parties and, scaling back, a recycled Mystical Magic party. The gap from December to May gave me time to catch my breath and scrape frosting from the couch.

By the time my third child (a girl) appeared, I had a repertoire of parties to choose from. I threw in a Tea Party and I was set. No one cared that the crowns from the King Arthur party became favors at the Princess party. Or that the magic rabbit had that “not again” look in his eyes. I was on party autopilot.

Then Molly came along, and she would hear nothing of my mechanical methodologies. Ever since she could talk, she planned her birthdays with gusto. At an age when most kids worried about their next trip to the potty, Molly worried about her next trip to Party Planet.

This year is no different. While she plans and dreams of her surf-side soiree’, she begs me to dream along with her, but I cement both feet in the reality of the calendar and dismiss any discussion of Beach Bingo.

By the time we make it to summer and swim team, Molly has a blueprint for seashell and streamer placement. In a weak moment, sometime between the last tennis match and the first saxophone lesson of the year, she breaks me. She has designed her invitations - bright umbrellas and beach balls under a smiley sun that nags from a bubble, "Are you ready for Molly's Birthday Beach Fun?"

Ready? Of course I'm not ready. It's five months away. I've got to get through fall first. And it’s only a birthday… Birth Day... I look at her happy, honey-colored eyes, her over four-and-a-half-foot tall body and her masterfully rendered invitation, and remember that day nearly ten years ago.

The day my heart doubled and the rest of life stood still, once again. When I rediscovered the profound joy for which moms like me, with Sesame Street vocabularies, find so few words. Just when I thought I couldn't love another child as much, along came one I couldn’t possibly love more. Like the others, a child that could never be replicated. Not her round, glowing face. Not her warm, buttery hands. Not her huge, happy heart.

And at that moment, I remember just how important a day a birthday is. A day that should represent a year of celebration. A day well worth a perfect plan. A day well worth … I know then, that if I'm not on Molly’s birthday bus, she'll leave without me. I want to hop on board. After all, it won't stop here forever.

So I succumb to the magic of the dreams and the plans. As Molly's birthday draws near, we'll ferret out beach balls among fall merchandise. We'll cull our seashell collection. We'll dust off the "Endless Summer" CD. We'll debate the practicality of sand in the basement. We'll trick or treat. We'll stuff the turkey. We'll sing a Christmas carol or two. And come January 11th, we'll be ready. We'll shiver into our swimsuits, embark on a "Surfin' Safari," lick the crumbs from a Smiling Sun and we'll celebrate our little girl who so beautifully reminds us, and reminds us – and reminds us – exactly why we celebrate.

Jean Reidy is an award-winning, freelance writer and mother of four