Birthday Party, Part I

Not sure how in depth I'll go on Saturday night's excursion, because frankly, I'd like to wipe those little memory chips away. Kids birthday parties are one of the few things I've never really been able to come around to since becoming a father. Being spit up upon? Not my favorite but something I think I've handled very well all things considered. Nuclear-waste diapers? Used to be, as a mere uncle, the thought made me want to jam my head as deeply as possible into a toilet and flush for, oh, at least two hours. The lack of sleep, attempting to make sense to a 2-year-old (or 3 ... or 4), the absence of anything remotely resembling a life, the steady drip-drip-drip on finances (I know, I know, wait til they're teenagers), the changing of minds with the changing of the minute (which may just be a female thing) ... I've just rolled with the punches, so to speak.

But a gaggle of 2-year-olds (or 3 ... or 4)? I'd almost rather conduct a field test to see just how far one can stick one's arm into a fire ant hill. Well, I stumbled upon something much worse, much more dark last night. A party of 4- and 5-year-olds ... a swimming party, to be exact, at the YMCA (a first for me, but what the hey ... Emler does it, too).

We're early ... largely because No. 1 has been asking me for 156 hours "Is it time to go yet?" She's in the pool immediately. Now, No. 2 usually gives her a good run for first in and, subsequently, first to make daddy's heart stop because he's convinced she's drowning (this is their favorite game ... just outdistancing inserting macaroni into their noses). But this time, she chooses throwing a fit about getting into the pool without daddy (good thing Daddy Radar picked up that blip 15 minutes before we left and I was prepared). No prob there after last year's Water Baby classes (although her favorite thing in the pool still, especially when I'm holding her, is to stick her face in the water and leave it there).

First thing, the pool's indoors, of course. But it's not heated, which I found extremely strange considering this is FEBRUARY. So while I'm enjoying a sneak preview of how my girls will eventually look with blue lipstick and jogging my memory for early signs of hypothermia, several other kids begin to straggle in. Then several more. Along with parents.

Now, I really, honestly, cross-my-heart-and-hope-for-six-more-weeks-of-winter don't look down on people in general. Those who know me know I'm one of the last who would consider himself better than others. (Unless they're Libs, of course.)

But let me tell you something, folks. The birthday boy's family arrived. The extended family, I mean. All of them. And I spent the next two hours developing an intimate sense of what it's like backstage at Jerry Springer's show.

(Imported from Feb. 11, 2007)