In which I actually use the word Smurf-tastic

Some of you may have noticed I didn’t post a Fashion Friday last week. And a large majority of you may not even care. I’ll just say that last week was one of those weeks that began with a tiny snowball of stress and quickly barreled into a big avalanche of being overwhelmed combined with a side tsunami of being tired after the late night birthday party festivities on Wednesday.

In fact, by the time Gulley and I finally made it to the pool late Thursday afternoon to reward ourselves with a white wine spritzer (Pinot Grigio with a large splash of Sierra Mist poured over crushed ice in a styrofoam cup. It’s very classy. Also, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.) I was barely capable of even raising a fuss when the chicken fingers I ordered from the grill turned out to be completely raw on the inside. Nice golden, crispy coating on the outside, totally pink and raw on the inside. Delicious.

Fortunately, I broke them in half before I took a bite and the whole incident only solidified my resolve to never eat poultry again. I returned them to the grill and they offered to re-cook them, but I said, “Please. Chicken is dead to me. I’ll just take an order of nachos. Hold the salmonella.”

But enough about my first world problems at the pool grill.

On Wednesday morning, Caroline woke up and immediately ran to open her birthday presents. You’ll be glad to know we continued our annual tradition of gifting her with some sort of weaponry.

Specifically, an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle.

All together now, YOU’LL SHOOT YOUR EYE OUT.

She had changed her mind about eighty-four times regarding what she wanted to do for her birthday this year. Ultimately, she finally decided to invite three girlfriends to eat dinner, go see a movie and have a sleep over. Why three? Because extensive, personal sleep over experience has shown that you need to always have an even number and I prefer to keep that even number as low as possible. Four little girls? Manageable. Six little girls? A little out of control. Eight little girls? It was nice knowing you before you were committed to the institution.

At some point we also decided to add a pre-dinner pedicure to the mix since I felt like it would save me the trouble of having to paint everyone’s toes four hundred and seven times over the course of the evening. Let me just say it was money well spent. I’d show you the picture of their adorable little toes, but my phone still isn’t speaking to my computer. I’m afraid the dump is permanent and might require a trip to the counselor, also known as the Genius Bar at Apple and I can’t think about that right now.

We came back to the house where Jackson and Will joined us for dinner. The birthday girl had requested that P fry fish for all her friends and so P battered and fried while I showed off my sweet Just Dance moves.

Otherwise known as something that is acceptable at your eight-year-old’s birthday party that will most likely be frowned upon by her thirteenth.

After a delicious dinner of fried fish and various conversations about lizards and shark attacks and snakes, it was time for the birthday cake. Or, rather, the birthday cookie.

Eventually I gathered up the crew and we went to see the new Smurfs movie in 3-D. In all honesty, it exceeded my expectations. But I feel like I need to let you know my expectations were very, VERY low. I thought all I’d get out of the deal was the bonus of killing a few hours of time and LA LA LA LA LA LA repeating on an endless loop in my head.

Actually, come to think of it, that’s exactly what I got. Even though I told the kids I thought it was SMURF-TASTIC when we got back in the car. It was not one of my prouder moments. Yet, BIG HIT with the kids.

The movie proved to be a brilliant strategy because by the time we got home it was 10:00 and an easy transition to pajamas and sleeping bags strewn all over the living room. They watched Soul Surfer (SO GOOD.) and began to grow very sleepy. Until the movie ended. At which time our living room turned into some sort of friendship bracelet making factory. You’ve never heard so much debate over thread colors and patterns.

With the exception of one little girl who couldn’t stay awake for the craft portion of the evening. I was never the kid that went to sleep first at a sleep over and I can guarantee Caroline has inherited that quality from me. Why would you sleep when you have friends over?

Eventually 1:30 a.m. rolled around and I had to turn into Grumpy Smurf and insist it was time for everyone to go to sleep. And so they did.

Everyone was up by 8:00 a.m. the next morning and, after a little more friendship bracelet making and breakfast, their mothers came to pick them up. Caroline was sad to see all the fun end until I reminded her she could go out back with P and practice shooting her new Red Ryder.

As long as she didn’t shoot her eye out.