Princess of Power?

On the infrequent occasions when I sit and consider myself in comparison to children's fictional characters I usually lean more towards She-ra Princess of Power than say, Little Miss Muffett. Usually. She-ra is known for her superhuman strength, speed, stamina, agility, reflexes, and durability. That's me. I take it all on, no fear. I even shop the cereal aisle with four children and emerge unscathed with my box of plain old "toasted oats" - if that doesn't demonstrate stamina, agility and super-human strength you probably use Peapod.

Since my husband left I have had so many people offering to help. Friends, neighbors. You know "please let me know if there is anything I can do" - "Thank you, I will". I am pretty self-sufficient, uncomfortable taking help. In the beginning I could barely function and so I did have friends and family here helping all the time, but only the people closest to me. They were here, helping with the kids, cleaning the kitchen, sorting through baby clothes, etc. Some neighbors have brought over groceries, flowers and even dinner on occasion, but still, they offer to help, "if I need it".

My therapist tells me that it is important to accept other's offers of help. It helps them feel helpful. In other words, my acceptance of help is actually a charitable act of my own. I consider myself to be a generous and charitable individual, so this view presents me with a bit of a conundrum. I feel compelled, but I don't know what to ask for. I don't know how to let these people help. In truth, I don't need that much, save for some magic potion to shake some sense into Uncle Dad and bring healing and restore trust in my broken marriage. Short of asking for black magic, I just don't know when the opportunity would present itself that I could help these people and allow them to help me. Imagine my surprise when, a few weeks back I was presented not just with an opportunity, but with an absolute dire need for neighborly assistance.

I was sitting in my living room on a lazy Saturday morning enjoying my Christmas tree and the company of my dear friend from Philfadelfia, DD. I was in my pajamas, sipping some hot tea, and she was relaxing on the chaise singing nursery rhymes to her godson Dexter (both in pajamas). All of a sudden we heard a "thud" (incidentally, I LOVE a good onomatopoeia, don't you?). DD declared that she definitely heard eight individual, yet synchronized thuds. Upon further investigation I found that she was indeed right...it was the biggest, huge-est, most insanely large arachnid I had ever seen.

She-ra: exit stage left. Miss Muffet: enter stage right. Cue girly screaming. Ew. Spider!

Damn it! Where is a man when you need him! Ugh. First Son, is unfortunately just as afraid of spiders as I am. Fortunately though, he is quite capable of dialing the phone. I screamed the neighbor's phone number and had First Son tell them that Mom needed a Man NOW!!! (hmmm...I am only now hearing just how..wrong that sounds...) I kept my eye on the creature while we waited for help to arrive. If we had lost sight of that ...thing, I would have had no choice but to put the for sale sign on the lawn and head to the Motel 8, cuz there ain't no way I be sleepin in the same house with a mutant arachnid. (That's right, I said "ain't")

So there I am in my living room, in my pajamas, on the verge of tears doing my charitable good deed for the sake of my neighbor down the block. I won't mention his 12 year old daughter who stood in my hallway watching the whole scene unfold and laughing her ass off, though perhaps there was charity even in that.

I can handle a lot. I have four little kids. I have seen poop, and vomit and temper tantrums that would make your hair stand up. I can tell you true life stories that the greatest writers of our time could not make up. I am not a lightweight, but to be fair, this spider was no Charlotte of Wilbur's "Some Pig" fame. This spider would have eaten your baby just like a dingo.

She-ra. Princess of Power. At the end of the day, still just a girl afraid of a spider.

Party Prayer

About a week or so before their birthdays I start regaling my children with stories that begin " 6 years ago today ( or 5, or 2 , or ...1) my belly was SO fat." The older ones are used to it by now, in fact, I dare say they look forward to my silly stories about the creature kicking me from inside, reveling in the fact that I am talking about them. Then we talk about how the doctor made a little cut in my belly and pulled the baby out, announcing with joy "It's a Boy/Girl!" and then how, the baby cried, and Mommy cried, and even Daddy cried, because we were all so happy to finally meet each other. We talk about LOVE. We share hugs and kisses, and lots of shnuggles.

Birthdays are such a happy time in our house. We plan months in advance, and we celebrate much more than just a day. We always start at the beginning, with breakfast. Usually, pancakes with a candle. (this year Curly announced days before her fete that she was "sick of pancakes" [we do eat a lot of pancakes] , and so she blew out a candle on a cinnamon muffin, but otherwise it's pancakes). Sometimes there is a special birthday outfit, and balloons. There are usually about 3 "parties", maybe four if you count the cupcakes I send in to school. There's the day of your birth, which mandates dinner, cake and presents; and then we have your friends over for a playdate/party extravaganza, and then finally the whole dam fam comes over to celebrate on the weekend.

I vow that no matter how old I get, no matter how wrinkled and saggy and "decrepit", I will always, always be joyful on my birthday.

This month (okay, the month that just passed) we celebrated two fabulous birthdays in our house. I am exhausted. First, my sweet Curly Girl turned 5 on 5-5. Margarita anyone? Well yes, but not until we've had a proper tea. Curly had 6 of her best buddies and their favorite Dollies over for a tea party. And I do mean a proper tea. Crazy party mama - that's me, btw - rented table and chairs, china and linen. We decorated with tulle and silks and set to brewing blueberry tea and pink lemonade. There was musical chairs, and ring around the rosy, and hot "teapot" - our own version of hot potato. We ate cucumber tea sandwiches and scones with cream, and finished off with pink creampuffs. Curly was gifted with her very first American Girl doll ( I don't know who is more excited, she or I?!)
Just ten days later the milestone of milestones...Dexter, my baby - turned one. To quote First son - "that was fast". We celebrated this weekend with a grand fete. We decorated with bright colors, cooked up a storm and invited anyone and everyone to join in our glee. It was a great day. Dexter's Godmom arrived from Philfadelphia and helped with all the details, the weather cooperated and I only lost one balloon in the parking lot of Party City. Almost everyone who said they were coming showed up, and most even stayed long enough to see the cake cut. I had lots of cheerful help from friends, family and neighbors, and we had a lot of fun. It was a great day.

I love my children's birthdays. I look forward to them so much. It isn't just because I love to plan a party, although I truly do. Their birthdays mark a day in my life, when life became so much richer, the day they were each born, I was reborn. For me, my child's birthday is a day of thanksgiving. I am just so grateful that God has gifted me with each of these beautiful creatures, I overflow with joy. Who am I that I deserve these blessings? I am not worthy, but I am so grateful - I need to celebrate. Can a party be a prayer? I must say, if I am the one throwing it, it sure can be.