I have been planning Sabrina’s birthday party for months. Probably since Christmas, or even before. And I am not a party planner. I see all you lovely ladies all over the internet throwing together fabulous get togethers, showers, and other various assorted fetes, and I wish had that innate talent, but alas, I am just not as good a hostess as I ‘d like to be. But still, I want to make this party happen for Sabrina. I have visions, y’all. Visions.
I imagined an adorable tea party with little girls sitting around white-clothed tables sipping pink punch and eating tiny food. But of course, Miss Sabrina prefers all thing princess, so I incorporated that into my plan, and suddenly the little girls were sipping pink punch while wearing crowns and possibly gloves (I don’t know – my head is a weird place). I’ve even search high and low for itty bitty petits fours (yes, this is how you spelled them, I checked) because my vision called for such. (As an aside, petits fours proprietors, why so much for tiny half bites of cake? And why, in all things sugary sweet, does your shipping have to cost more than the product?) I even ordered fancy printed invitations because I did not feel I could do this justice otherwise. This would be my triumph as a party hostess! Huzzah!
So this morning, I put those invitations in the mail with a happy little grin and collected yesterday’s mail. And right on top was a small pink envelope made out to my daughter, with the return address of one of her preschool classmates on it. My heart dropped to my stomach. Oh no, what if this girl’s party was going to be on the same days as Sabrina’s? I ripped that sucker open and zeroed in on the date. Which was one day after Sabrina’s party. Whew. Crisis averted. Until I looked at the rest of the invitation, which began, “Please come to a princess tea party…”
Please fill in the expletives of your choice, because I’m sure each and every one of them went through my mind (and hopefully not out my mouth, since Sabrina was standing right next to me, although, let’s be honest, something may have slipped out, whoops).
I know, I know, I know, this is for Sabrina, and she’s going to love it and love her presents and not be worried at all, especially since she now gets to attend 2 princess tea parties in 1 weekend. And I know I just segued from real worries in my last post to something unbelievably trivial and quite a bit selfish. But I’m bummed. Not for the girls, no, I’m sure they’ll love all of it. No, I just feel like I’ve put all this effort into putting together a homemade party that probably won’t be perfect, but I hope will be cool, and now I’m set up to compete against a store-bought package party put on by professionals. I know we’re not supposed to look at it as a competition, and I really don’t but I’ve been around the internet and the general world of moms long enough to know that comparisons, and judgments, are inevitable. And I feel like I won’t measure up. It sucks.
So what do I do? As I’ve run through all the emotions in my head today – anger, frustration, sadness, doubt, I’ll say it again, doubt – I’ve been trying to come up with ways to make this party better and more distinct without blowing my budget even more than I already have. I got nuthin’. I know this is probably wrong, but now I want to make sure I have something nice and impressive for the moms who stay for the party, because, let’s face it, I’ve got the girls handled with the crowns and the cake, and it’s the moms that are going to remember and talk about all of this later. I really want to make a little impact if I can.
I’m on my knees here (well, maybe, this is the internet, how would you know for sure?), asking for ideas from you fine folks would do this far better than I do. Or at least, please talk me down from the ledge. I’m about to double my order for those overpriced petits fours. Help!