The Barf, The Shame & The Birthday

Or the world’s longest, more horrifying birthday adventure ever.

Do you remember the opening scene in Maverick where Mel Gibson’s character has a hangman’s noose around his neck and a bag of rattle snakes at his feet?

“It had just been a sh***y week,”

he narrates as the movie then flashes back to the events of the past few days that had brought him to that unfortunate point.

I bring that up because I have spent the last six week’s since Ash’s second birthday trying to figure out a way to “edit” the events leading up to her big day and somehow put a super positive, Wonder Woman-y spin on it.

But I can’t.  And I haven’t. 

And it hasn’t been until I sat down this morning determined to tell the whole, awful, shamefully story that the words started to flow.  Besides, all of my talk about ‘keeping it real’ would be pretty hallow if I were to start editing at this point.

  I also realized that this may be the world’s longest blog post ever because to tell the story of what happened, I have to explain the perfect storm of really bad things that all collided to make this one of the most memorable birthdays ever.

And so if you’ll forgive me for being brutally honest:

It had just been a sh***y week ….

For starters, Ash fell in love with peanut butter a few weeks ago.  She snuck into it constantly, happily burying her fists in creamy goodness.  And then she would usually wander around … and get kid schmeer on walls and clothes and furniture and carpets … and every now and then get a little too much of that fist in her mouth … and gag …  and sometimes even barf … and then say, “Ewwww.  Mommy YUCKY,” … and then smile and do it again the next day.

So there’s that.

Then a week before Ash’s birthday, I was sitting the computer when the Walmart bag at my side started rustling and moving like it was possessed.  Moments later when a tiny, baby mouse scampered out and down the hall, I was stunned. Yes, I know that every house will get a mouse or two at some point.  And yes, I know that some of my neighbors had talked about mice in the area lately.  And yes, I suppose it was only a matter of time since we don’t have cats anymore, but still … I was so not prepared and totally creeped out.

After hunting around for an hour, Hubs trapped the little guy in, ironically, a washed out peanut butter jar and brought him upstairs to show me.  “What do you want to do with him,” he asked.  And the truth was … I didn’t know.  The dumb mouse looked right at me, just like that scene from Ratatouille.  And it also didn’t help that he looked so small and helpless like little Fievel from the movie An American Tail from forever ago.

I did not want mice in the house, but having to actually kill him was beyond me.  Hubs seemed to be in the same boat.  So he finally took him outside and released him outside next the fence of our neighbor with three cats.  I suppose it was still a little cruel, but I hoped that nature running its course would take care of the problem.

There was also the issue of what to do for Ash’s birthday.  I posted here about feeling torn about the whole party-is-for-moms-at-this-age vs. honor-the-kids-request-thing and had decided to let Ash pick after all.   She’s a very strong-willed almost two year old, so I figured that I would take Ash up to Target or Toys R Us the day before her birthday and let her pick.  And whatever she picked would stay, no matter how random, or weird, or Thomas.

And then there was the water problem.

The drain pipe for the condensation from our air conditioning unit is in the laundry room right next to the washer.  The pipe empties into a drain in the floor and has never been a problem. One morning I came into the laundry room to find that the floor drain wasn’t draining … it was pooling.  Not much, but there was a puddle about six inches across and an inch deep.  I wondered what was wrong with the drain. 

After some checking from Hubs, it turns out that one or more of TDHD had dumped an entire box of dry wall screws down the drain, nearly clogging it completely.  We also realized that the previous owners (who have a long history of shoddy, crap repairs to the house) had installed the floor drain and then covered the lip completely with concrete.  That meant that the only way to unclog the drain was to bust up the concrete around the drain, dig it all out and then replace everything.

The time and cost to do that, sadly, were deal killers.  Hubs and I resolved instead to just use the AC as little as possible until later this winter when we’d be able to afford some major work to the drain and the floor.  The only problem was that we were having record heat into the 90’s, even in mid-September. 

That would have been tough enough, except that the next morning we woke up to find a two foot puddle in the laundry room.  After more checking we suspected that the seal around the two inch water pipes behind the washing machine had failed.

 

Our awesome neighbor, Mr. Contractor Guy, came over and confirmed our suspicions.  He explained that the repairs for the floor and water pipes were fairly straight forward and doable for rookie home owners like us.  But, it would take the better part of a day and some money to make it happen.  The first realistic date that Hubs would be home long enough was a week and a half away.  That meant we’d have to limp through with little AC comfort, minimal use of the washer and constant use of our wet/dry shop vac.

So that’s what we did.

We rolled the shop vac into the laundry room and kept it there all week, vacuuming up the water whenever we washed clothes or broke down and ran the AC for the afternoon.

 

But the system was such a pain … and was getting so old … that I tried to avoid the laundry room and using the washer as much as possible.  That meant that the laundry bins started piling up … and piling up … until I found myself down there Wednesday night, hot, tired and ready to crack.  I was trying to get enough socks and underwear washed to get us through ‘til Saturday repairs could happen.  As I vacuumed up the water from the previous load and waited for the wash basin to fill, I started crying … because I’m a crier … and because I was so far behind on laundry … and because I hated the smell of standing water … and because Saturday could not get here soon enough.

When the water stopped filling and the soap was added, I made an executive decision: I was going to load up every last bit of laundry in the morning and blow $50 to get it all washed at the local laundromat.  I couldn’t live like this anymore--couldn’t have a birthday this weekend like this-- and it was worth two miserable hours with my three really bored kids at a The Suds Stop to make it happen.  And then as a reward to all of us for making it through, we’d run over to the store and let Ash pick out birthday stuff. 

Feeling somewhat better, I closed the washer lid and came upstairs into the sweltering heat.  Gah, I thought.  The thermostat said it was 83 degrees in the house at ten o’clock at night.  And so without even thinking, I flipped on the AC … and went to bed.

I vaguely remember hearing Dylan, Savannah and Ashlyn getting up and dragging breakfast stuff out.  But I very clearly remember hearing Ash crying a few minutes later as Dylan drug her into our room.  “Ashy got into the peanut butter again and I stopped her.” 

Thanks Bud, I replied without opening my eyes.  

“She needs new clothes ‘cuz she’s wet.” 

Wet?  As in bad diaper?

“No, she just got wet in the big water downstairs.” 

What big water downstairs? 

“In the laundry room.  There’s really big water and Ashy took the peanut butter in there.”

Oh crap.  The AC’s still on ….

I flipped off the AC and ran downstairs to survey the damage.

Oh.  my . goodness.

Where our laundry room once stood was a large recreational pond, several inches deep and reaching from wall to wall and lapping up against the washer and the furnace and the water heater. Thankfully, I suppose, a huge pile of clothes had fallen over during the night and had blocked the water from backing out onto the hall carpet.  The only down side was that I now had a small lake in my laundry room and lots of really, really,wet, mildewing clothes.

And that’s when I noticed the peanut butter.

A half eaten, lidless jar of Reduced Fat Creamy Skippy was slowly floating out in the middle of Lake Leaksville, surrounded by … wait for it … little chunks of peanut butter barf.

And I about died.  

No.  No, no, no, no, no.  This is not happening today.

And so I marched upstairs into our room and told Hubs that there was a huge water mess downstairs that needed to be cleaned up.  I’m sorry, I thought, but this is Man’s Work. 

Please let this be Man’s Work.

So I threw on some jeans, a t-shirt and baseball hat … and  spent the next hour helping the kids get ready for school … and wrap up breakfast … and finish last-minute homework …

… and that’s when I heard Hubs call out a quick I’ve Got To Leave Early For A Branch Meeting as he walked out the door.

You jerk! Don’t leave me with the flooded laundry room … and having to drag piles of wet clothes to the laundromat … and shopping for toys with kids … and blah, blah, blah.

Ugg.

But it was almost time to go … and clean up would have to wait until we got back … and everyone headed out the truck except Cameron who, like usual, was still sitting in his room. 

“Why aren’t you ready,” I barked at him as I hurried downstairs. 

I don’t have any socks in my drawer. 

“Get them out of the dryer NOW,” I order without thinking.  And while I grabbed Cam’s backpack and shoes, Cam opened up the laundry room door … and then shouted,

“MOM, THERE’S A MOUSE IN HERE!!!!”

What the ….?!

Fievel’s back? 

I peered over Cam’s shoulder to see--to my everlasting horror--

… Fievel …

… floating paws up in the middle of Lake Leaksville …

… right next to the Skippy jar and the kid barf.

I didn’t know if it was all the detergent and bleach that leaked out from the washer, or whether is was the back side of Ashy’s peanut butter that did Fievel in, but I about barfed.  Right there on Cameron’s head.

I was shocked.  Stunned.  Totally and completely disgusted.  And in the surrealness of the moment, I did the only logical thing for a grown woman to do:

I ran away.

After slamming the laundry room door behind me, I fought back dry-heaves.  I quickly herded the TDHD out to the truck and grabbed black church sock’s from Cameron’s room for him to wear.  All the way to school my mind raced for the best way to keep the kids from blabbing this all over school. 

It’s no big deal, guys.  Mom will take care of it.  Most houses get mice at some point.  Do we need to talk about this at school?  No, because it’s gross and bad manners.  Everything will be fixed when you get home.  So no talking about the mouse, okay?  Promise?  Seriously, promise?

Once the big three were dropped off at school, I bee-lined it for the corner drive through for 32 oz. of full-on leaded, wonderfully caffeinated Diet Pepsi, since I had a sneaking suspicion that today was going to warrant lots and lots of drinking.  I also had a sneaking suspicion that there might be some awkward phone calls or emails home from curious teachers.

Now what?

I hadn’t grabbed the clothes for the laundromat and was in no mood to go back for them.  Not yet.  I couldn’t face it yet.  So I pushed forward with my plans to take Ash shopping for birthday stuff and hopefully—hopefully--begin the healing process of erasing the events of the morning from my brain.

In the few minutes it took to drive over to the mall, I slammed half of my drink and was wishing I had chocolate.

First stop:  Tar-jay.

The party section was a bust so we headed for the toy isle.  And the truth is, I secretly love shopping with TDHD because they usually do great.  I love that they know to stay with Mom … and that toys only come home on birthdays and Christmas … and that when I say, “On My Six!” they know to hurry up and get behind Mom. 

And so we strolled through the toy isles while I watched to see what kinds of stuff Ashy was into.  We stopped by the Thomas trains, naturally.  And Ashy loved them, naturally.  But the real hit was a row over:  Dinosaur Train toys.

Ash . went . nuts.

She squealed and clapped and laughed and smiled and practically climbed out of the cart to get to an orange baby T-Rex named Buddy.  And I got to say … Buddy was adorable.  As soon as I saw her slobber him with kisses and beam ear to ear, I knew that we had found the toy for Ash that G&G P had asked me to pick out for her.

The only problem was when I told the boys that it was time to leave and that they needed to put the toys back.  They went berserk.  Totally and completely berserk:  wailing, sobbing, flopping on the floor. 

Houston, we have a problem.

And so I lifted them both up in the cart … and leaned over to lecture them in my low, grouchy I’m-the-Mom-and-you’re-totally-busted-if-you-don’t-stop-causing-a-scene-this-second voice.  But they kept going.  And were getting louder.  And people were starting look and stare and whisper to each other about the dumb housewife who couldn’t control her kids.

At this point, I think I started sweating.  And turning red in the face.  And so I hauled it to the front to check out as fast as I possibly could.  But then it got worse when the boys tried to take Buddy away from Ash and she started screaming, too.  And hitting back.  And when our friendly cashier tried to take Buddy to scan him, Ash took a swing at him, too. 

“Whoa there girl,” a startled Mr. Target Cashier Guy blurted out, “I’ll give him back in just a second.” 

But Ash was pissed and tried to climb over the register to grab Buddy back.  She even yelled, “Bully Butt! My Buddy!” when Mr. Target finally did hand Buddy over.

“Ah, sorry about that …” I meekly muttered, pulling my baseball cap down further and heading for the nearest exit.

Back in the truck, I continued my I-can’t-believe-you-guys-pulled-that-kind-of-crap-in-the-store speech as I buckled everyone in.  And after pulling down another 10 oz. of caffeinated goodness, I really, really, really wanted to give up and go home.  But I couldn’t.  Fievel was still there.  And I really did need to get birthday stuff figured out for Ash.  And in the two seconds it took to drive over to Toys R Us, I read the kids the Riot Act about pulling another stunt inside the next store …

 

… and killed the remaining ten minutes until the store opened by taking deep cleansing breaths and banging my head against the steering wheel.  By this point the boys had finally calmed down, so we headed for the door to give birthday shopping another try.

Except there was a slight problem when I told Ash she had to leave Buddy in the car:  she started screaming.  But I was not about to walk away.

Let’s just get this over with.

As I strode through the front doors with two grumpy, quiet boys and one screaming little girl, the friendly store greeter asked if she could help me find anything today.

“Nope,” I replied flatly.  “Just looking for birthday plates.”

“Oh!  Who’s birthday is it today?” asked Ms. R Us with way too much enthusiasm for 10:00 am.

“This one,” I said pointing to Screamy.

“Wonderful!  Would somebody like a birthday crown and a balloon?”

And I said—yes, yes she would--like six times in a row and nodded my head like a stupid bobble head toy until Ms. R Us came back with a pink crown and cheesy Geoffrey the Giraffe balloon.  And since she was on such a helpful kick, Ms. R Us thoughtfully offered to get a scanning gun for me so that Ash could register for birthday gifts.

Are you kidding me?

I tried not to roll my eyes as I managed a forced smile and a quick, “No thank you.  I’m just here for plates.”

And with her prized balloon and lovely crown, Screamy #6 stopped crying … and started squealing … and laughing loudly … and popping the balloon up and down on the string over and over like a paddle ball … and making, if its possible, more noise than before.

* Sigh*

So what?

I figured that since it wasn’t crying or whining, everyone in the store could just handle it.   Besides, it wasn’t like we were going to be wondering around for hours registering for gifts or something ….

As soon as we made it to Plate Land, I dutifully grabbed a sampling of choices for Ash to pick from: Thomas the Tank Engine, Elmo, Transformers, SpongeBob, Disney Princess and even a generic balloon set. 

And just to mess with me, Ash picked the generic balloon set.

See?

“Are you sure?” I asked her, holding up the Thomas plates again. 

“Yep,” she said smiling, grabbing the balloon plates and happily settling into the cart to introduce them their green balloon cousin, Geoffrey.

Alrightythen, I thought, laughing.  This soooo figures.  But it also occurred to me that the generic balloons were orange, green, yellow and blue—the exact same colors as Ash’s newly-acquired best friend, Buddy T-Rex.  The kids enjoyed Dinosaur Train each morning on PBS, but for some reason, it had never really crossed my mind to make it a party theme.

So feeling pretty proud of myself for having stumbled onto such a perfect solution to the whole Ash-party-plate-thing, I smuggly headed over to the Dinosaur Train section to see if there was anything else over there to use for Ashy’s party.

And then all hell broke loose.

(You stupid, stupid woman. Did you not remember what just happened at Target?)

The kids loved the dinosaurs and the trains … all of them … and wanted to take them all home … and they screamed when I made them put them back …and Sean climbed out of the cart and refused to get back in … and the boys flopped on the floor and kicked and screamed … and I had to physically put a screaming, flailing  Sean back into the cart … and drag Kade behind me to the check out … and duck my head, again, as I hurried past all of the staring people … and try to stay calm as I dug and dug and dug through my stupid purse looking for my wallet … and fight back tears … and hate that I was allowing myself to get so flustered because they’re kids and kids do this sometimes … and practically fell over when the cashier asked me loudly over the screams of the kids if I wanted to check out a scanning gun to register for gifts today … and without thinking I obnoxiously blurted out, “Are you really serious?!?!” … and then slunk out of the store feeling like an idiot for being rude to the poor, clueless cashier.

Aaaaagggghhhhhh.

From the parking lot, I called my sister in desperation.

“Hey, howz it going?” she asked cheerfully.

“Let me just tell you about my day …” I began with a deep breath.  And as I drove across town to Home Depot with the kids still crying about the trains, the pathetic, disgusting details of my morning tumbled out. 

And my sister started laughing.  And laughing some more.  And by the time I pulled into the store parking lot, she was in fits of deep, I’m going to pee, laughter.  And even though it was completely at my expense, I so needed to hear that.  I needed the reminder that the train wreck of a day that I was waist deep in was more than just a dark, shamefully day for mothers everywhere.  It was funny—horribly, perversely funny--and some day I’d be able to see that.

When I got off the phone, I took a deep breathe and threatened the kids no treats for the rest of their lives if they dared make a peep in the store.  And so they piled out … and immediately started whining about, well, everything … and just as I went to go get a cart, I saw our city public works director coming toward me.

And I panicked. 

And I actually, truly, shamelessly DUCKED down below the window of the truck so he wouldn’t see me … and I wouldn’t have to talk to him … and smile … and Yes, these are some of my kids … and Sorry, they’re not usually this loud … and stuff like that.  After he drove away, I picked my dignity up off the pavement, strapped the kids into the evil race car cart and headed for the doors.

Now, can I just say how much I hate the car carts?  I hate them because they don’t steer worth a darn and because they are source of all contention on our shopping trips on even the best of days.  There’s always a fight over who gets to drive and who has to walk and blah, blah, blah.

And so right on queue, Ashy, Sean and Geoffrey climbed behind the wheels …

… and Kade started the It’s Not Fair wind-up …

 

… and I countered with the clenched-teeth, World’s Meanest Mom Stop it!  Stop it this second! I don’t want to hear another word out of you, Mister! lecture.

Out of principle, Kade got louder. 

That meant that the Home Depot security cameras recorded the pathetic scene of one seriously frazzled mom pushing two toddlers, a giraffe balloon and a screaming kindergartner through the front doors in a giant orange cart that didn’t actually steer.

The only good thing about melt-down tantrums like this, is that it can absolutely guarantee one thing:

Excellent Customer Service.

And as expected, two startled Home Depot types rushed right over to help me the second I made it through the front doors with my human sirens.  “Shop vac filters and two inch PVC piping,” I said without explanation.  And just like that, I was quickly lead right to a fine selection of filters while the Home Depot types headed for the nearest available exit.

And in the first break I’d caught all day, there was one, blessedly wonderful filter left on the shelf that got a quick hug from me before going into the cart.  And as I started to head for the PVC isle, the loud obnoxious voice of a man accosted me from behind: 

“WHAT DO YOU WANT, LADY?!?!”

I spun around, startled and confused to see the grinning face of my good friend’s husband.  And I immediately thought:

 Thank goodness it’s someone I know.

And I also thought:

 Oh crap--it’s someone I know.  

My friend’s husband works at Home Depot and has sadly been there each time I’ve come in to repair, replace and reclaim parts of my house that have been ravaged by TDHD.  He was the one who helped me find …

… new carpet after this little stunt with the black paint …

… the replacement door area after Cameron channeled his inner Fezik the Giant from The Princess Bride and knocked Kade’s door clean off the hinges …

… child frig locks and door bolts when Ash and Sean decided to knock back yummy bubblegum medicine shoots …

… paint to redo the downstairs playroom after one too many rounds with the crayons and markers …

… wall patches and then patches for wall patches after months of TDHD slamming their bedroom doors open …

… a replacement glass dome for the ceiling fan after Dylan and Cameron destroyed it playing Jedi light saber training with the kitchen broom ….

He had seen it all.

And as he asked, again, why I was in there to torment him and his customers with my screamy kids, I wanted so badly to smile, look him in the eye and lie to his face. 

No crisis today … we’re just getting vacuum stuff for fun.

But instead, I stupidly rattled off the events of my hell morning as his eyes started to dilate and his mouth slowly dropped open.  To his credit though, he only cracked a smile once … and did a fine job of nixing the giggles … and kindly called someone over to help me get the right parts to replace the leaking water pipes in the laundry room since it looked like replacing the broken water lines was going to be Woman’s Work today.

And as I punch in my PIN, I decided $41.72  was worth every penny if it meant that Lake Leaksville would go away and that I never had to see the wrong side of Fievel again.

While the kids got seatbelts on, I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror.  

I looked tired.  I look haggard.  I looked like the sad semblance of a woman who’d had her butt kicked by flooding and kid barf and vermin and tantrums.  And the worst part was that I still had one stop to go:  Walmart.

And for the umpteenth time, I cursed the retail bosses for putting the freakin’ milk at the back of the store.

Oh well.  I took a deep breathe and tried to be happy about having the kids in a cart that would go in a straight line and was thankfully free of race car wheels.  After grabbing our weekly six gallons, I figured that I might as well grab stuff for Ashy’s Dinosaur Train cake.  On the way to Baking Staples Land, Kade grabbed a bag of animal crackers and squeezed and pinched and tossed and dropped and finally blew open the bottom where nearly half of the crackers could conveniently fall all over the floor.

While Kade was supposed to be picking up crackers and Ash was eating through a cardboard box, I started grabbing cake mixes and tossing them into the cart haphazardly, trying to make darn sure I that I had a cake mix for any and every event in the foreseeable future:

Ashy’s birthday?  Check.  The replacement cake mix for Ashy’s party because she’ll probably gnaw through the plastic and dump the whole thing in the isle?  Check.  The next full moon?  Check.  Winter Solstice?  Check, check.

When I finally stopped my manic cart loading, there were TEN cake mixes in the cart.

Yeah … that seems reasonable.

By that point I was also willing to do whatever it took to keep the kids happy and just let me get out of there quickly.

Can we get Apple Jacks for lunch, Mom?  Sure.

Can we get Halloween Oreos for snack, Mom?  Fine.

Can we get two ice creams for Ashy’s party? Whatever.

I also made a stop in Health & Beauty Land to pick up a box of  tampons to replace the ones Dylan and Cameron got into because “they shoot cool white bullets just like Nerf Guns!”  I also grabbed the largest bath bomb I’d ever seen because soaking in a nice hot tub had never sounded better.

Just before heading to the front, I made one last stop in Cleaning Land where Lysol wipes, Lysol spray, Lysol floor cleaner and non-latex gloves made it into the cart. 

Oh, and three packs of mouse traps.

After dropping Kade off at afternoon kindergarten and getting everyone inside, I got Ash and Sean their Apple Jacks lunch.  Five minutes later I parked them in front of the TV Disney Darecare Center while made the descent into the laundry room to make final arrangements for Fievel.  Twenty minutes of unspeakable work later, I emerged to find this:

Ashy scrubbing her tights with half a bottle of dish soap, the confetti mess of animal crackers on the counter and Seanry kicking back in the middle of a giant pile of Apple Jacks on the living room floor.

I don’t remember much about the rest of the afternoon.

There are some vague memories of me …

… changing diapers and sending the kids to their rooms for naps immediately …

… locking myself in my bedroom with a second 32 oz. Diet Pepsi and a full tray of Oreos …

… writing a fairly average Thursday post and laughing shrilly and hysterically through the whole thing …

…  asking my neighbor to pick up the kids at school because I was feeling a little ‘out of it’ ….

The good news was that by dinner time, I had come around and was speaking again. 

Hubs being the wonderful, thoughtful (and hopefully guilty) man that he is offered to take care of dinner so that I didn’t have to.  And so I ran away again … this time to go soak in the bathtub with a third 32 oz. Diet Pepsi and my huge raspberry bath bomb.  In the stillness of the room, I closed my eyes, drank in the sound of hot water running and counted down the moments ‘til the day would be thankfully over ….

Friday, September 17th was Ashy’s birthday.

And the first thing I did I was race downstairs to check for the return of Lake Leaksville or the ghosts of Fievel’s past.

Nothing.  Phew.

Back upstairs, my bleary-eyed birthday girl came stumbling down the hall and I new that it was going to be a special, special day.

 

Good morning, Sunshine.

After a stop at the family breakfast at the school … and a trip to the dollar store for a balloon to replace Geoffrey …

… and getting all those wet clothes to the laundromat … and picking up the Dinosaur Train decorations that I had printed up at Office Max …

… we headed back to the house.  After letting the kids cut everything out and hang the decorations, I realized that I had stupidly taken a hard left to Orangeville.

See?

Oh yeah.

That’s an orange dinosaur on an orange cake on an orange table cloth with an orange-bedecked birthday girl in a really, really red room.

And for everyone out there who’s already one step ahead of me on this one, you already know that this unfortunate orange glut can only lead to one thing:

Totally crap-tacular pictures.

While the pizzas cooked in the oven, I let the kids use up the extra dinosaur pictures to make birthday hats.  Was this really just an excuse to keep them busy?  Yes.  Yes it was.

(Oh, please, Dyl.  Don’t act so surprised.)

The hats turned out pretty cute as each of TDHD designed their own hats and colored away in gleeful anticipation of extra cheese pizza, presents and freakishly tinted cupcakes.

I tried to make a special birthday crown for Ash out of –wait for it—orange paper and cute layered diamonds to match the diamonds on Buddy’s back.  But something didn’t quite look right.  It seemed a little big … or maybe it was just one too many something oranges in the room … or maybe it was that as soon as she put it on she looked just like …

… Ramses.

Oh, boy.  All hail Pharaoh.

No matter.  Buddy, Pharaoh and her I Rule The Nile Delta hat happily settled in at the table while Hubs lit the lovely “2” candle that Ash had covered with bite marks in the baking isle at Walmart.

 

And despite the awful, stressful, disgusting events of the last few days, seeing this girl loving her birthday and being loved on by the rest of my DHD was absolutely, utterly, awesome.

And I savored those memories of her birth while TDHD belted out a stirring rendition of the traditional Egyptian chorus:  Happy Birthday To You Cha, Cha, Cha! 

And I remembered …

… the morning we found out that I was pregnant with Sean and knowing that one last little girl would be right behind him …

…  getting anxious around Thanksgiving and watching for the first signs of pregnancy and wondering, “Where are you little girl?” …

… the excitement of finding out I was pregnant and the heartbreak on the day just before Christmas when I lost her …

… staring at my wonderful five kiddos Christmas morning—and feeling so grateful—but also heartsick, because all I could see is that my daughter was missing …

… feeling the guarded excitement when we found her heartbeat a few months later …

… and the crushing pain of her growing body splitting my pelvic bones apart during the last eight weeks of bed rest …

… staying up ‘til midnight with Hubs the night before she was born playing Phase 10, eating peanut M&Ms and drinking Diet Coke until my food cut-off for surgery …

… getting a blessing of comfort from Hubs …

… driving up to the hospital at 6 am for my c-section and meeting my beautiful little girl an hour and a half later …

… and relishing those few days alone with her in the hospital before announcing to the world that, “New To Our Zoo … ASHYLYN MARIE had been born into captivity on September 17th and was now on display with pen-mates Dylan, Cam, Savannah, Kade and Sean.”

 

And seeing her so totally, wonderfully happy when she blew out her candle, and smitten with her plastic dinosaur friend fed my soul.

Happy Birthday, baby girl.  Love you … and Buddy.

And for the rest of the party, I smiled as I watched Ash and Buddy have a blast … laughing … joking … enjoying the lovely, generic partyware …

… until that crown started to go to her head … and she started acting like Pharaoh … and treating Buddy like a measly tomb-building peasant.

First she ate her entire cupcake in front of Buddy and didn’t even share.

Then she stuck her tongue out at him, just so he could see what he was missing.

 

And in the lowest of blows, she offered to give Buddy a taste, only to lick it back out of his mouth.  Ew.

By this point, Buddy couldn’t take it any more.  With a loud rawr and a stomp, Buddy went T-Rex on Ashy’s cake.

So Ash and Buddy both had time outs … and baths …

… and settled into the crib with the birthday balloon and Ashy’s piggy pillow from Grandma L for a good nights sleep.

(Actually the balloon didn’t get to stay over night, just Buddy and Piggy.)

Back in the kitchen I surveyed the remnants of my thoroughly trashed room with the frosting-slimed counters and mountain of dishes.

I knew that more than ever, having a clean kitchen to wake up to would be the best way to put the last few days behind me and start fresh.  But I was tired.  And happily worn out.  And still hot from being afraid to turn the AC back on.

So I did the next best thing:

I put the kids’ dirty clothes in the washing machine, turned on the AC and went to bed.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Ramses.