We Partied Like It Was 1999. Only It Was 2013. And Then We All Went To Bed Early, Because We Are Quite Elderly.

I think the verdict is that Thing 2 is cutting an entire mouthful of teeth at once.  That, combined with the diaper tape rubbing all of his skin off, has caused us two horrific nights that are reminiscent of early 2012.

Early 2012, when the baby NEVER SLEPT and MAMA AND DADDY WENT BAT-DROPPING CRAZY FROM ALL THE LACK OF SLEEP.

When the boy was a tiny bundle in Pampers, we kissed him goodnight.  He went to bed with a smile on his adorable little face, and he woke up the next morning, after a full twelve-hours’ worth of sleeping, with all of his teeth in place.  We counted them; we said, “Good job, Little Buddy!”  Teething with the boy was a total non-issue.  Hubs and I had no idea why our friends were complaining about TEETHING!  TEETHING!  THE HORRORS OF THE TEETHING!

Thing 2’s whirlwind experience with getting teeth has caused him to shout, “I feel like I’m chewing razorblades over here, people!  I want an entire tube of the Orajel for dinner!  I want TWO tubes!  I want the morphine drip!  I want a cold tree branch to bite on, and I want someone’s great-grandmother’s whiskey-in-the-baby-bottle remedy!”

Anyway, Hubs and I are pretty sure that we’ll sleep all night long again when Thing 2 moves to Harvard for college, so I’ll quit complaining now.

So Cousin L turned ten on Tuesday.

Ten.  As in, the double digits.  She was quite proud of having TWO NUMBERS in her age now, but all it did was make the adults in her life feel very old.  A decade has whipped by since L made her entrance into this world, and it feels like little more than a blink of time.

She had some ideas about her birthday dinner.  She requested spaghetti, hot rolls, salad, green beans and a polka-dot cake.

I love the differences between girls and boys.  Ten-year-old girls think about the entire dinner menu.  They balance it out with vegetables and carbs.  Twelve-year-old boys would be all, “I want pizza!  Cheese pizza!  Nothing else!  And don’t make me any of that tossed salad, because I don’t want to ruin a good dinner with something green on my plate!”

Everyone showed up at Sister’s house  on Tuesday night, and we got down to the business of eating, which was only surpassed by the business of opening presents.

Cousin K was hopped up on party excitement on Tuesday.  Sadly, he thought his sister’s gifts were rather disappointing, because SCENTSY POT and SCENTSY WAXES and A MONOGRAMMED NECKLACE and HARDBACK BOOKS ON AMERICAN GIRLS and A WEAVING LOOM and SPARKLY HEADBANDS.  He wanted to know where the cool stuff was.  Where were the killer magic markers?  Where were the Legos?  Why weren’t there any Batman action figures to unwrap?

Little H was powerfully impressed with the new Scentsy pot.  She also adored the cardboard box that it came in.

The boy made some comment, too, about how he was glad that HE wasn’t a girl, because GIRLS DO NOT GET AWESOMENESS IN A BOX FOR THEIR BIRTHDAYS.

What?!  The Scentsy pot is one of America’s greatest inventions!

Thing 2 wasn’t even REMOTELY interested in all the present-opening.  He just crawled everywhere, got into everything, and kept asking, “Would anyone like to hear me clap?  I am an ACCOMPLISHED CLAPPER!”

His shirt says, “I do my own stunts.”  Yes.  Yes, he does.  Doing his own stunts makes his mama’s heart stop with anxiety several times a day.

Sister made a chocolate cake with polka-dots, as L requested.  Sister gets more points in her mothering career than I do, because when it comes to birthdays at OUR house, Mama says, “Let’s go on inside of the Walmart, and you can choose something from their bakery for your birthday.”

Don’t judge me.

Thing 2’s love language is birthday cake with ice cream.  His parents forgot to shove a bib into the diaper bag when they left home, so he borrowed one from Little H.

It was pink.

Hubs was NOT impressed.  Hubs wanted there to be no photos with the pink bib around his neck.

Hubs was also not impressed with the green-and-brown plaid, Gymboree pants that Thing 2 wore on Tuesday, either.  Hubs’ comment that morning, when I dressed Thing 2 for the day, was, “Real men DO NOT wear plaid pants!  EVER!”

Oh, Hubs.  Sometimes real men DO wear plaid pants.  And also striped pants.  May I present three photos, circa a long time ago, for your consideration?

(Yes, girls, go ahead and say it.  Hubs WAS adorable in his plaid pants.)

After dinner and cake, all the kids, except one, went to the living room to play with L’s new things.  They had a loom in full action, and L’s first potholder was started.

At least we have raised Thing 2 right, because, even at his VERY YOUNG AGE, he was the ONLY CHILD IN PARTY ATTENDANCE who said to Sister’s Husband, “Can I help with the dishes?”

Hubs and I are proud of his good manners.

While helping with the cleanup, Thing 2 found a spoon in the dishwasher.  It was NOT the spoon HE had used for dinner.  It was a dirty spoon, and goodness knows WHO had it in their mouth before him, but we’re all family here.

Everyone laughed, because Thing 2 looked like an energetic puppy, crawling all over with a bone hanging out of his mouth.  Without even wanting attention, Thing 2 got it.

Little H saw all the big people giggling at her cousin, and she wanted in on the game.

Please witness The Great Spoon Take-Away of 2013.

Oh, and guess who’s walking these days?  Now when she takes toys (and spoons) away from Thing 2, she can beat a very hasty get-away ON FOOT.  This has prevented him from tackling her numerous times this weeks.

So that was the party.

While all the lazy children made potholders on the loom, poor Thing 2 slaved away with Sister’s Husband in the kitchen.  And Sister’s Husband said to him, “I am setting a horrid example for you.  Loading the dishwasher is women’s work.  Find yourself a woman, and tell her to get the dishes in the dishwasher herself.  And while she’s doing that, you go flop on the sofa in front of a good football game.”

Mmm-hmm.

We’ll keep praying for the boys’ uncle.

Welcome to ten, L!  Thanks for having us over to party with you.  And if you ever need to attend Scentsy rehab for all the wax you buy in the future for that new pot of yours, I’ll already be there.  I’ll be the one down in front, on the metal folding chair, with a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

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