Friday, October 11, 2013

a modest return—photo friday: pale

Nothing too fancy to begin with, just some shots I took this week using my iphone.

We are headed upstate today to see the foliage and sip coffee without the joys of family life distracting us. My mother will be handling family life while we're away, a win-win for everyone. She'll even be able to take the kids to a birthday party over the weekend—the kind where every kid in class is invited. Meanwhile, I plan to get a massage.

Birthday parties are one particular part of parenting I'd be happy to fob off on anyone else. Last weekend there was another one of those everyone-is-invited birthday parties, and as C was out of town I had no one to send in my place. I've given up on buying birthday presents (I either re-gift or make a present), so the kids and I spent the morning fashioning our own Sculpey beads, and then strung a necklace for the birthday girl. But the party was lovely despite my curmudgeonliness, and G was wildly entranced with the cake. Pink, fluffy, floral (and homemade)—she spotted it coming from afar and ran over to me with a level of excitement that I can't say I've seen in her before. She darted back and forth between me and the cake in a state of ecstasy. When they lit the candles and starting singing she could barely contain herself. She repeatedly asked me how long it was till her birthday. What can I tell her? Child, your birthday is a few days before Christmas—one of the busiest times of year—and even if that was not so, your mother abhors parties?

Truth was, I wasn't even planning to stay for the cake. My son was at a playdate and I had to get him. However, it was clear that G was staying for the cake. It was arranged that my son would be dropped off at the party; G could eat her cake. There was a face painter at the party, a patient and talented woman who went by Sparkle Tiger. G (along with more than half the little girls at the party) had asked to be a butterfly. But as G settled into a plate of pink-frosting, meticulously eating each bite, Sparkle Tiger spotted my clean-faced son. "Do you want your face painted?" she asked him, "you can be a tiger." He hesitated, "can I be a snow leopard?" Sparkle Tiger beamed. I must say I think she did an excellent job.

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