Have you ever started out planning for an event and fancied yourself quite clever for finding a solution that was less work all around? And then it turns into slightly more work than you first thought. And then it turns into a good deal of work. And then it morphs into a big, 'ol pain in the ass and you feel like an idiot because now you've not only spent more time and energy, but money, too? No?
Well, such was Hannah's birthday party. It culminated with an argument between myself and the owner of the giant inflatable jumpy-things place where I elected to hold the party, on the eve of said event. Let's just say I disagreed with his pricing strategy, and told him so, one business owner to another. And let's just say he disagreed. In a threatening way.
Apparently, he eventually saw things my way because the price was significantly lower than it should have been upon check-out (which I made Todd handle, since I was too angry to be trusted).
The party itself was an hour-and-a-half frenzy of ecstatic children, pizza, and princess/barbie cake with icing so saturated with food coloring that the children were still bearing the marks of it the next morning - topped with a wee smattering of adult conversation.
Hannah couldn't have been happier. She loved all of her gifts (opened at home, as is the fashion now) and spent nearly all day yesterday dressed as either Tinkerbell or Fancy Nancy, or (my favorite) Tinkerbell in a Fancy Nancy skirt.
From now on out, though, we're all about country birthday parties with all the hotdogs you can eat and all the dirt you can roll in.
