The First Birthday Party: What Not To Do

The past few weeks have been full. We stuffed in birthday celebrations, a garage sale and about a million doctor visits like a one-year-old does with his first piece of cake. And even though it was hectic and busy and tiring and painful, it felt great. I felt like a real mom. A good mom, even. One who has the best husband, son and friends a girl could ask for.

That doesn't mean everything went smoothly. Of course it didn't. This is me we're talking about. Why the heck do you think I named this blog Sanity Department? If everything went according to plan, I'd call it the ... Went According to Plan Department.

So, let me help you before you get tangled up in your baby's first birthday extravaganza. Learn from my mistakes.

First, before I even get started with my list of things Not To Do, let me offer you this: If you can, just have one big celebration. I divided it into two parties because I thought it would be easier. I was so wrong.

Don't schedule important appointments the same week as the party(ies).
A few weeks ago, my back discomfort went from a 5 to a 9 on a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being giving birth without drugs. It was, and still is to a lesser degree, causing my brain to function at a much lower level than usual. Blinded by pain, I scheduled several doctor appointments, including poor T Junior's one-year checkup, during the two weeks that contained parties. His big day included a Chicken Pox shot and his first-ever taste of cake and ice cream. When I should have been shopping for My Friends Tigger and Pooh decorations, I was balancing a squirming pre-toddler on my lap in hushed waiting rooms.

Don't let your one-year-old try cake for the first time right before bedtime.
This one may seem obvious, but the traditional order of a party is to have dinner and then cake and ice cream. T Junior chattered for an hour before eventually drifting into sugary dreams.

Don't try to make your own gourmet frosting.
I didn't want to use store-bought icing. I thought it would be a cop-out. I was already using a cake mix. I wanted to make cupcakes with a fancy topping for the first party. How hard could it be to make white chocolate frosting? Well, guess what? It's pretty damn hard if you've never done it before.

For the second party, I just mixed up regular old vanilla icing from a safe Betty Crocker recipe. It was simple, tasted good and it technically wasn't purchased at Safeway.

Success.

Don't let your husband handle the main course.
He was trying to help, he really was. But I couldn't resist when he told me he wanted to cook ribs in the R2D2 smoker.

"For a one-year-old's brithday party?" I was picturing our friends' picky eaters, who range from about age 3 to 7, looking at paper platefuls of messy (but I'm sure very delicious, honey) slabs of meat. "Don't you want to do something easier?"

I was assured they would be simple to make, but that's not really what I meant.
Whatever.

I was letting go. Letting him take care of it for me. He was offering to make the main meal and I was grateful.

But somewhere along the way there was a communication breakdown.

The night before the birthday party, I was wrestling with lumpy chocolate frosting in the kitchen when it dawned on me that no major food had been purchased. "When are you going to smoke ribs?"

Mr. T frowned at me from the living room. "I thought you said you didn't want me to."

What!?

"Um, no. I merely suggested you do something easier."

Great.

The conversation went around and around until he came up with the idea of ordering pizza.

"Brilliant!" I was once again happy to not to have to worry about it. He said he would order it a half-hour before the festivities started so it would arrive at the perfect time, which he did...online. But then an early party attendee unknowingly closed the laptop mid-order and Mr. T had to start over.

An hour into the party and the guests were looking a little Lord of the Flies. Finally, a hot Mr. T stomped upstairs to give the pizza place a call. Turned out, though, in his haste to order the pies for the second time, he forgot to check the box that said: "Delivery."

Fortunately, he handled the emergency food situation swiftly and quietly, coming through the door like Santa with four boxes of doughy, cheesy goodness that everyone ate because who doesn't like pizza?

You cannot purchase balloons the night before the party.
The second party was to be at the park at noon a half-hour away from home. That's right. Immediately after T Junior's nap and 30 minutes down the road. I knew the morning would be hectic, so I opted to buy balloons the evening before. I took my son with me for some pre-party grocery shopping and then I happily ordered five latex balloons -- one for each child that would be at the party.

That night after T Junior was in bed, I dropped thick blocks of pastel-colored sidewalk chalk in cellophane bags and wrote the kid's names on the front. Then, I tied a joyful floating balloon on each one.

Oh, they'll be so excited. Kids love balloons!

By 11 a.m. party day, the two pinks were almost touching the floor along with my spirit. The two blues and one red were also showing signs of distress.

While my birthday boy napped, I packed up the apple and cheese slices, pretzels, pigs in a blankets, juice, water, the plates, cups, napkins, cupcakes and the sad party favors. Then, I gathered my groggy child and completely forgot to grab the camera. We had a very limited time to get fresh balloons.

It wasn't busy at the store, but for some reason (only God knows why), the woman who answered the page to come help me at the florist counter was the assistant store manager. She happened to have a corporate-type woman observing her. She also happened to not do balloons very often. I could tell because I had to show her what drawer they were in.

She was having a very good time blowing up the balloons as T Junior, perched on my hip, shouted and pointed, "A-boon! A-boon!" She made the first one huge.

THAT is going to pop.

The next one was bigger. I tried a friendly hint. "Whoa! She's making those huge, T Junior! Oh my goodness! Wow!"

This had the opposite effect I had been hoping for. As she filled the five balloons with helium, each one was bigger than the next.

Finally, after 15 painful minutes, I was out the door and into the wind. Oh yes, wind.

I muscled an unruly bouquet of bulging orbs in one hand and a 21-pound squirming toddler hollering "Aboon! Aboon! Aboon!" in the other. I tried to hold the giant thin-skinned balloons away from my child's face. They beat me on my head as I made my way across the parking lot to the van.

Luckily, we parked close to the door. As I struggled to get out my keys and unlock the back of the Odyssey, there was a BANG! I yelped and a lady on a cell phone walking by patted her hand over her heart. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a blue carcass on the asphalt.

I also could see that it had scared the older man who was putting a box in the back of his car, which was parked next to us.

"Knew that was going to happen," I smiled helplessly at him while attempting to stuff the remaining wily balloons into the back of the van.

He slammed his trunk. Then, he looked at me with an angry face and said, "Thanks A LOT!" before turning toward the grocery store.

Wait. What? Oh, hell no.

"Sorry, SIR. It was the AIR."

He was still within shouting distance. "I CAN'T CONTROL THE FREAKING WEATHER!"

Which leads me to my last tip:

Don't buy balloons.

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What about you? Got any good tips for us first-timers?