The birthday party is behind us. Nothing like having a house full of sugar fueled, rambunctious 2-5 year olds pillaging the old abode. Some kid named Colton brandishing a Barbie doll like a noonchuk and belting anyone who came within reach was probably the most memorable highlight for me. The hired face painter set up her emcampment around the patio table. This seemed to be the most popular venue at the party. That and the mini-trampoline in the den, languishing right behind my favorite chair. So much for the Ryder Cup. Interesting how the boys declined to have their faces splashed with multi-colored hues in the pattern of rainbows, and puppy dogs, and some other sort of weird Masai Warrior renditions, that for your basic looking white lady, actually appeared pretty authentic. I half heartedly expected a groundswell of muffled chants saying, ZULU, ZULU, ZULU, ZULU... Actually their was one boy that did get into the face painitng. Well, not exactly a boy, seeing how it was my 23 yearold son Josh. His was a solid depiction of a butterfly, all star spangled bannered out in red, white, and blue. He posted a picture of himself on Facebook with his face painted at a Lupus charity run recently. Is this something I should be concerned about?
Shiloh, the party girl, had a great time. She alternated between the basketball court outside, where her guest entertained themselves with tricycles and scooters and...not much else. We didn't want to do the musical chairs deal with kids this young and aggressive. Potential lawsuits can be expensive. The pin the pony tail on the princess game required a little more neuro-muscular discipline than these youngsters possessed. Except for Bruce Lee Colton, of course. We did have the requisite Pinada (Sorry, can't do the curly Q over the N thing). Our handyman, Raynor, used every ounce of his creativity in making sure the Princess Pinanda was perfectly centered on the court. While observing rope lines running from rooftops to palm trees to telephone poles, to being draped over the top of the basket backboard, I wondered if he had ever served time with the Mexican Special Ops. Had to cajole the liitle crumbsnatchers to let their animalistic natures manifest themselves. They would coyly take the decorative broomhandle like stick and gently tap the thing, like they were afraid to hurt the Princess. It wasn't until my nephew got his turn that things got interesting, Princess be damned. Though we had to ditch the bandana we used to blindfold him. Something about that nasty eye infection of his that caused Josh to alertly and discreetly yell to me, "look at his eye, throw that thing away". The honor method was invoked, sans blindfold. Now, what that usually means if you are like me, is that you at find a way to take a little peak. My other nephew, Gene Gene, would have made Abe Lincoln proud. Not only did he not take a sneak peek, but he nearly knocked himself out in the process. Got to love his ethics though. Once the Pinada was thoroughly breached, all hell broke loose. I had to put a moratorium on the older kids and their total disregard for the toddlers' safety. My 9 year old daughter Jasmine was particularly upset, questioning the fairness of it all, while trying to hold on to the 15 pieces of candy in her hands. While 9 year old (yes, this is how we do it) granddaughter Khalilah anxiously panted a few yards away waiting to display another Panther pounce on her Gummy Bear prey. The young ones meticulously gathered their treats with happy smiles plastered on their colorfully painted faces. Just what this party needed, more sugar...
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