Birthday Fun

I don't know anything about modeling. Nothing at all. But if I did, I might get this child an agent because, when he smiles, he could sell ice to Eskimos, saltwater to pirates, dirt to the Israelites wandering in the desert for 40 years. (I just typed dessert instead of desert. That certainly would have been a different story.) 

On Friday we celebrated his fifth birthday and that is flat impossible because he's really just a baby still, bouncing in his Johnny Jumpy. He begged and pleaded for what he referred to as a Ben 10 watch. When I tried to google it, and came up empty, we were finally able to figure out that it is called an Ultimate Ultramatrix. Or something. He was a hap-pay, hap-pay, hap-pay boy.

He immediately wanted it on. We figured out how to make the sounds and showed him. "Okay, now show me how it works," he said. We showed him again. He was getting more excited by the second. "Show me how it works though," he repeated.

"We are. You turn this dial..." his daddy said.

"No," he said with urgency. "How does it turn things into aliens."

Back at Christmastime, I read a tweet where the only thing someone's daughter wanted for Christmas was for Santa to make one of her toys come to life. This was kind of like that. Like, if I could have conjured up an alien right at that moment, I would have. My tiny five-year-old wanted his beloved Ben 10 watch for the express purpose of making aliens. We explained that, sadly, no.

And he was very upset.

He got over it though and then fell in love with his Ultramatrix. He sleeps with it. He takes it everywhere. Including to his party--although we made him leave it in the car.

Chuck E. Cheese.

Just. Wow. The noise. The chaos. The concern on the faces of several of the children because of the slightly creepy robotic band. The joy of being five and getting the party you've been dying to have.

To save a few bucks, I opted to not have Chuck E. supply the cake. Instead, we did this. Everyone seemed fine with it. Of all these exciting cupcakes, my two boys selected the white ones with plain blue sprinkles. So, in other words, the plainest of them all. 

It had been over two decades since I'd stepped foot inside a Chuck E. Cheese. Is it just me or does the mouse, himself, remain slightly terrifying regardless of how old one is? Like, close your mouth already. No one's mouth just hangs perpetually open.

The birthday boy got to go inside of a ticket blaster. When he got in, before the tickets started to blow, he did a dance with more rhythm than the rest of his family has in their whole bodies put together.

When the tickets blasted, he stood there for half of his allotted time, just waving his hands around. Eventually, he got the hang of it and started shoving tickets down his shirt--as we'd instructed him to do. Because we're awesome parents like that. When the door opened, tickets fell out. Garrett asked if he could gather them. "Go for it," I said. Because I was pretty much going to have give him to the restaurant to pay off the birthday party debt anyway. It was either pay the bill or hand over my firstborn and, at that point, I hadn't quite decided which way we were going to go.

Then I remembered that I love him way too much--shaggy hair and all--to let him become of ward of Mr. Cheese. So we went ahead and brought him home with us. But not until after he ate his pizza.

I think the party was pretty much all Matthew ever dreamed it would be. He's worth it. 

Every year we take pictures of him in his daddy's button down shirt. And, I mean, look at this child. Take a good long look. He is exquisite. I don't know why I am so blessed to have him call me Mommy. Do you see what I mean? He could sell coconuts to Hawaiians. Swine to Hebrews--okay, maybe not that one.

A fun birthday was had by all. But still, there's no way that he's halfway to ten. I assure you that he's still my itty bitty munchkin.

Swoon. And also, bestill my heart.