In a “normal” year, we celebrate my daughter’s birthday in January. With her special day coinciding with the December break, we’ve always felt compelled to throw her a big bash to compensate for the bad timing.
Anyway – our daughter was born two days before Christmas and her birthday parties up till this year have been the overblown affairs you might expect of a long-awaited only child. You name it, we’ve done it – with 10 of her closest friends. Last week, when I was rummaging in the freezer for an easy boxed meal following a day of virtual school and work, I stumbled on a beautifully preserved, individually wrapped, hand-painted Elsa cookie – an iced relic from a long-ago Frozen-themed fifth birthday party. Time to “let it go,” no?
Instead of reminding myself that I’m good at other things, I stubbornly insisted I, too, could recreate Hogwarts, while swearing under my breath as I cut out and affixed tiny white wings to Ferrero Rocher chocolates, approximating the elusive golden snitch. My fingertips were singed from glittery hot glue and not a single child noticed my artistry. The cleanup was epic, and I was collecting cupcake sprinkles and ketchup-chip crumbs for weeks.