9 Screaming 9-Year-Olds (and a Partridge in a Pear Tree)

What was I thinking??? Every year, at least one of my children insists on having their birthday party at our house. And, after every party at my house, I tell my husband, "Remind me NEVER to do this again." In part, it's his fault--he never reminds me. Partially, it is my own fault--as I never know how to say "no". And, so, here I am, once again, hosting the rockstar party of my daughter Kaia's dreams.

What began as a little pizza party with a couple of friends has morphed into something much more terrifying--an all-night purple-frosting-topped nine-year-old screamfest. How convenient that my husband chose this of all nights to hang out with his brother at the bar. How could he leave me alone with them? Doesn't he realize that as soon as he is gone, they will devour me alive in one giant sugared frenzy?

I am not prepared for this. I only hope that party games like "pin the kissy lips on Troy Bolton" and "dress Kaia's unsuspecting older brother like a girl" will distract them long enough for me to hide.


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