Abby's Ninth

This time of year is chaotic at best.  The gauntlet we educators, parents and kids run these last few weeks of the school year is a horrible, horrible thing, but when you have to plan three birthday parties in the mix (Abby's, Alayna's, and their co-birthday party), it's downright soul-crushing.

This picture really sums it up:

Kris and I decided to keep birthdays low-key this year, on account of our family's upcoming vacation in Florida next month.  The girls, fortunately, were totally cool with having five or six friends stay the night for a birthday sleepover - the fan favorite around these parts - so we trimmed the fat while trying to keep a relative 'theme' to it.

Party favors.

Abby, for example, wanted a Squishmallow-themed party.  Yes, squishmallows are a thing.  Type it in to an Amazon search bar and see what I'm talkin' about.  So Kris went to Five Below and bought a bunch of little plush thingies as party favors (tying them to red balloons, since Abby wanted red ballons, as seen in Disney's recent film, Christopher Robin.)  It was only later that Abby told Kris that what she bought at the store were not, in fact, Squishmallows, but some other weirdly-named stuffed toy.

F*** it.

Friday night, Kris and I stayed up late getting the house ready for the upcoming festivities, and Kris began working on Abby's cake of choice: a pink cake with marshmallows and a rainbow.  It sounded disgusting, but, dag nabbit, what a kid wants on her birthday, that's what she gets.  Check it out. . .

The Mad Scientist at work.

This looks absolutely disgusting.  There's enough sugar in this thing to give the entire state of Wyoming diabetes.

The finished 'product.'

So Saturday evening, after Yours Truly had finished the first stage in vinyl-siding the chimney (I'll tell you guys all about that fiasco at a later date - it's a doozy), the guests began rolling in.  The usual crew, of course:  Larkin, Ella, Allie, Claire, Archa.  They immediately ran off into the backyard to burn off some of their initial "OMG WE'RE AT A BIRTHDAY PARTY" hyper-ness on the trampoline out back (which continues to pay for itself during social get-togethers such as this.)

Allie, Ella and Abby.

The gang assembled.  Plus the Cannonball.  Plus a half dozen Squishmallows.

Some of the presents kids dropped off on their way out the backdoor.  I'm honestly surprised they didn't just throw them on the kitchen floor in all their excitement.  Check out the card Larkin made. . .

. . . . I don't get it.

We always let the kids pick what food they get to eat on their birthdays, and this year Abby wanted Nachos, so Kris made a Nacho Bar.  Sadly, no margaritas.

On Cloud Nine.

Definite fire hazards.

This kind of music played non-stop for nearly 24 hours.  I've lost all faith in God.

Dance party.

Brownin' meat.

I gave Watson two doses of Melatonin about an hour before company began to arrive, and he was like this for the entirety of the evening - stoned out of his mind.  I would've traded places with him in a heartbeat.

I attempted to escape from time to time into the Study, where I could listen to vinyl and screw around on the internet, but there was no escape.  Not even from selfie-obsessed wives.

When Archa (at right) showed up, shortly after dinner, it was time for cake.

(It's a blinking LED cake candle.  You'd think it was the Second Coming how excited these girls were.)

Larkin and Allie

Stoic during 'Happy Birthday.'  I was going to upload the video that Kris took, but the file was too big for Blogger's hosting.  Sorry, America.

 

Thinking about what to wish for.  Gotta be careful with birthday wishes. . .

Ella enjoys smelling extinguished candles.  Yes seriously.

Cake time.

Kris doesn't appreciate the way I cut cake.

Kris also created an ice cream bar.  This, too, was a big hit.

That looks f***ing disgusting.

After cake and ice cream, the kids filed into the living room for the opening of presents. . .

Abby asked her friends for LOL Surprise Dolls (again, search it up on Amazon, they're incredibly stupid), among other things.

Around this time, the batteries in my camera flash died, so my picture quality decreased incredibly.  Kris took a crap-load of videos during this time, but the files - again - were too big to upload here, except for this one.

The kids ended up having a sleepover in the living room, as a couple of them are too scared to sleep in our basement.  This is what I woke up to the next morning.

I took orders and went to get the girls all donuts from Tim Horton's, as Abby had requested, but when I got there, the baker hadn't shown up.  Turns out, they had called in sick. . . so they didn't have any donuts ready, and customers were furious.  The high school-aged employees locked the building and only allowed customers to go through the drive thru, and despite getting their ten minutes before they opened (at 7am), I was forced to leave empty-handed.  I ended up having to return around nine, once they had all the specific types of donuts I wanted available, and I more than likely cleaned them out of all the good stuff.  

So.  Much.  Sugar.

A celebratory breakfast.

Fast-forward a day, on Abby's actual birthday (which is today.)  I picked up the girls from Mom's (who gets them from school), and drove them over to this Tiki Pineapple joint off of Saginaw Road that specializes in buffet-style frozen yogurt.  They price it based on the weight of what you bring to the cashier, so you can load up whatever the hell you want in a big bowl and just pay when you're done.  This would've been Heaven on Earth if it had existed when I was a kid, but sadly it didn't.

The kids originally went in for cones, but they became so overloaded with toppings that we had to dump them upside down into a large bowl so they wouldn't spill out everywhere in my car.  The girls then proceeded to add more toppings and ice cream.  The cashier was cool with all this - the place was dead - and priced us based on the number of toppings instead of the weight, saving us a few bucks, which I then used to tip her.  I have no qualms with acknowledging good service, folks.

- Brian