Abby's Birthday (Observed)

How's it going, Internet.

As May continues to rampage through the End-of-the-School-Year gauntlet, we found ourselves once again engaged with another insanely busy weekend, chock-full of obligatory parental standards to adhere to.  Abby's 8th Birthday this year falls on a Tuesday, and so appropriately we were tasked with throwing her a party the Saturday before in order to be, you know, good parents and everything.

This year, Kris and I gave the girls a choice when it came to birthday parties.  They could either a.) have individual birthday parties at local venues (the Gymnastics Center, the Roll Arena, etc.), with friends invited and the whole nine yards, or, b.) they could have a more low-key affair at our own house, in the form of an all-day party followed by a sleepover.

The 'B' option, being significantly less expensive, would mean that we would buy them a trampoline as a combo gift in lieu of forking out the money for more elaborate parties.

And it begins. . .

Not surprisingly, the girls opted for Choice B.

So we bought a trampoline.

My sister Jill recommended the model her family currently has, and she would be the one to ask since her family - living on a hill in the middle of crop fields - has been forced to replace theirs more than a few times when strong winds have sent their trampolines flying hundreds of yards into far-off reaches.  We were able to order ours directly from Amazon, and over the course of an entire evening last night, Yours Truly was able to assemble it without incident (though the process was a huge pain in the ass.)

The next day (today), Abby's friends began rolling in around 4pm, and for the rest of the day we had about eight kids running amok around the house, doped up on sugar and youthful adrenaline.  They only just now fell asleep - a huddled mass of brightly colored sleeping bags, stuffed animals, and drool-covered pajamas in front of the living room TV.

I need a drink. . .

The directions were far from straight-forward.  It was like they were trying to make sure you assembled it wrong.

The bars didn't fit together very well at all - you really had to force the pieces into place (I'm assuming so that it'd be sturdier.)

The frame put together, preparing to attach the mat via 5,000 steel springs.  The girls, by this point, decided to 'help' me put the trampoline together.

These springs were pretty nerve-racking to lock into place - the tension was so great that if one end freed itself from it's locking point, it would shoot off as if it had just been launched by a trebuchet.  One went sailing all the way into the neighbors' backyard.  After that - and contemplating what a hefty chunk of stainless steel flying 100 feet per second could do to a little kid's face - I decided to send the girls inside until I was finished with all the springs and had the protective cover on fastened on.

I took a short break to enjoy a beer and let the girls jump around on their new backyard attraction for a spell.  The net wasn't set up yet, but, hell. . . it's not like we had nets on any of our trampolines back in the '80s.

While all this trampoline business was going on outside, Kris was inside preparing snacks and decor for Abby's party, which was going to be - I shit you not - unicorn-themed.  Kris, the loyal Pinterester that she is, found some unicorny snack ideas ("pins," I'm told they're called) she wanted to try out.  Her first batch of 'unicorn horns' turned out a bit, well, flaccid.

At this point in the grand scheme of things, the net was attached but only partially sewn on (the sewing process took hours), but after weaving the netting's tie-downs in and out and in and out through the trampoline's straps (per the assembly instructions), I decided to call it a night.  The rest of the sew job took place this morning. 

Kris' first attempt (at right), and her later attempts (at left.)  The white goop on the pretzel rods were white chocolate mixed with caramel.  Tasted f***ing amazing, but each one was probably about, oh, 2500 calories., thereabouts.

Burning off some unicorn horns, waiting for guests to arrive.

The Spread.

"Light as a feather, stiff as a board.  Light as a feather, stiff as a board.  Light as a feather, stiff as a board."

Kris wanted to make sure she bought enough pizza for eight kids and two adults, so she bought two large pepperoni pizzas, one large cheese pizza, and two orders of breads ticks from Good Times Pizza. Combined, the girls ate approximately 3/4 of one pizza, averaging about a half-a-piece per child.  We ended up with a shitload of pizza leftovers, and not only will that be lunch and dinner for tomorrow, but Kris and the girls will most likely be taking some in for their lunches next week.

Round table discussion on the repeal of net neutrality and its posed effect on individual liberties in 21st century America.

After dinner, the girls all sat themselves down in a circle and took turns, one after the other, introducing their favorite stuffed animals and listing their many virtues.  This bizarre, independent, and completely unprompted activity took well over twenty minutes.

Next up:  Pin the Horn on the Unicorn.

(Most of these kids cheated.)

Following some indoor games and activities, we ushered the girls outside where we had strung up a pinata (a unicorn, obviously) for the party guests to beat the holy hell out of.

 

Ella makes sure no one can see through their blindfold.

To spice things up a bit, Kris had the girls each draw a number out of a hat, and each of these numbers corresponded with a random item the girls had to hit the pinata with. Some of these were decent instruments of destruction. Others were, well, fly swatters.

Sophie wields a rolling pin like a drunken viking berserker wields an ax on a raid.

The Cannonball prepares for war.

BFFs Larkin and Abby.

Of course a Hough landed a lightsaber. . .

This kid (forget her name) was given a plastic shovel, one that the girls have had since way back when we lived in our Sindlesham house in Orlando.  It proved no match for the pinata's fortitude, and was promptly split in two.

Larkin and her spatula.  Not even close to hitting her target.

Christmas wrapping paper rolls aren't the most effective of weapons. . .

A real sword would probably work better.  Just sayin'.

Ella couched each combatant during their time at bat. Didn't help much, I'm afraid.

This is so gross.  I can't believe this made it into the mix.

. . . but at least Abby hit something.

   

Kris had intended to hit the pinata with a bat in order to split it open for the kids, but - hilariously - she was unable to do so. . .

. . . so she handed it off to Ella, who showed her how to smite one's enemy properly.

  

 

The mob assails the spoils.

 

Abby wanted to keep the body of the pinata as her personal candy caddy, and had no problem giving Ella the head, seeing how it was her 'kill' and everything.

Look at this fancy unicorn cake Kris 'baked all by herself.'

And now it's time for some sing-song chaos. . .

 

Sugar distribution.

Once the kids had their fill of ice cream and cake, they adjourned to the living room, where Abby held court over her guests in opening up a bunch of weird gifts (kids play with some really weird stuff nowadays.)

While the girls ooo'ed and ahhh'ed over each and every one of Abby's gifts, Kris set up the dining room table for the last activity of the evening: painting unicorns on individual canvases.

More, super in-depth, round table discussions. . .

The Squad

This is the only picture that was taken with the frame.  Whoops.

The girls rounded out the evening watching Peter Rabbit and camping out in the living room.  All seven of them (Alayna retired to her bedroom for the night, much against her will.)  Most of the girls crashed around 10pm or so, thoroughly exhausted, but we had two hold-outs that lasted until 11:30pm-ish.  The peace and quiet that befell the house afterwards was truly a Godsend.  In the morning, Kris whipped up a breakfast feast while Yours Truly started the long and arduous process of cleaning up what was left of our living room.

These are the times that try men's souls. . .

- Brian