Today is my hubby’s birthday. We had been very clear to keep it low key due to way too much going on this year, and it is his 32nd, so not a particularly noteworthy number. However, I did want him to come home from work with something fun. For all of you (that would be approximately 2 people) who have told me that I always nail every party/holiday/celebration perfectly and get each detail in order, here is proof that that is not the case. So this is the story of celebrating a birthday, otherwise known as cute-idea-meets-terrible-execution-and-unforeseen-obstacles.
First there were going to be balloons. 32 balloons. But when I got to the party store and they started blowing them up, I realized it is not possible to squeeze 32 balloons into one’s car, even a clown car, or an SUV. So then I was going to go with the paltry number of 5 (3+2=5). I took my puny but still cute bouquet into the car and one popped while driving home. Upon bringing them into the house, I noticed that one was 15% smaller than the other 3. Within another 10 minutes, it was the size of a kiwi. So I was down to 3. Then I started stringing all the father/daughter photos (32 best father/daughter pictures that I spent an hour picking out) onto the remaining 3 balloons and realized a balloon can only support the weight of 1 picture – duh.
I was about ready to give up, but alas I spread the remaining pictures out on a table, hung some on other string that I taped to the ceiling (not taking into account the fact that they would spin and mainly show the backs of photos), and still had my 3 balloons with 3 pictures. And then the abnormally hot weather hit. In the 3 hours between purchase and husband getting home, all 3 balloons became crestfallen, limply hovering over the table. It was a sad, sad site. (Additionally, the tiramisu I swung by the store for melted on the way home and would not hold a candle).
The one thing that went ok: after working all day on the happy birthday song, Carter filled in the “DADA” part on one verse.