My daughter's fifth birthday party was this last weekend. She wanted to hold it at our local playground so that's what we did. This being August in San Francisco, naturally the weather sucked. It was gloomy, occasionally drizzly, the whole time. The kids didn't mind though.
My wife, being the Super Parent In Residence, handled most of the party preparation. By most I mean, of course, all. Well that's not exactly true. She
- handled all the invitations
- reserved the picnic tables
- bought the supplies
- cooked all the food
- created the goody bags (including hand-decorating each one)
- figured out how to entertain the kids
- was in charge of pressing the pause button on the boombox each time my wife signaled me.
I did an awesome job.
The boombox was an integral part of an activity called Pass The Parcel. This is a "game" where essentially you just wait your turn to get a present. My wife must have read some secret book on kids because somehow she knew that kids loved presents. Go figure. That's why she's the brains of this relationship and I'm the braw... Well, she's the brains.
Happy birthday, kid. Your momma done good.