On The Side Of The Road Again, Pt 2

And I, in my state of perpetual calm and rational thinking, bark, "You WILL pee like this because YOU drank enough to satiate a frickin' camel for 2 months and I'm standing on the side of the road like a NUTTER. YOU. WILL. PEE.  NOW!"

Kiddo #2, screaming, says, "I will NOT!" and I park him back on the ground abruptly.  I look him in the eyes and say, "It's time to suck it up, buttercup. THIS is why I make you pee before we leave. THIS is why I tell you when you need to stop drinking. THIS IS WHY!"  And I picked him up, put him back in the Superman position.  Seconds later, I watch him pee out, like, 4 gallons of liquid. Honestly, he peed a hard stream of pee for a really, really long time. I'm kinda sad that I made him wait because I would've been wailing around in the backseat like Mr. Orange, too if I had to pee that bad. 

Luckily, I could re-live the awesome moment of parenting all the way to Amsterdam because, I hadn't noticed at the time, but the wind picked up just enough to lightly mist both my flip-flop wearing feet. Perfect. 

Thanks Universe.  

I put the boy back in his seat and buckle myself in when I hear a meek, "Mom, don't worry. I can hold it until the rest stop" from Kiddo #1.  

To Be Continued...

(I did that like 80's cartoons did-- I got a little extra use from the last 15 seconds of the previous episode and saved a bunch of money by switching to Geico. Or whatever. If you're just landing here and have no idea what just happened, scroll down and read the previous post to get the Part 1 of this 2-Part Pee-tastrophe. :) )

So, feeling sticky with fresh boy-pee on my feet, I snarl that maybe Kiddo #1 should've told me before I headed to the highway on ramp and she could've peed on the side of the road, too.  And then I stop myself because, bless her, she can wait to pee on her panties and shoes for the first time until another damn day.  Plus, all that rage in my chest was making me have to pee, too, and making a second pee-stop, at a place with an actual toilet sounds much more appealing to Momma. 

Just as I got my car up to speed, I took it off cruise and coasted into the rest stop.  I told Kiddo #1 I was sorry for being [a douchebag, although that's not the term I used] and the three of us walked quickly to the family bathroom.

The Family Bathroom in the new rest stops, by the way, is unbelievable.  Truly!  They re-did a bunch of rest stops in our neck of the woods and made them AMAZING. The family bathroom has this handicapped door that opens medium-quickly (unlike the doors of the past that slowly inch open over a period of 3 minutes ensuring you piss your pants waiting for the 300lb door to open) and locks with a handicapped button, which is also pretty cool.  I've always (secretly) wondered how someone in a wheelchair could reach and stretch to manually lock a lock, and this gigantic door opening and locking button is awesome. Plus, it's directly beside the toilet, so it's convenient to the person on the can. 

There is also a gigantic, electronic changing table, which would be amazing to change an adult on (which made my heart happy, since adults with limited mobility still travel places and it would be hard to travel if you knew your adult had no where to have diapers changed etc), as well as a mini-toilet for toddlers and urinals (not included in the picture)... I'm telling you, it's worth writing about, hence these paragraphs.

Anyway, Kiddo #1 did her thing on the mini-toilet while I washed Kiddo #2's and my hands from our previous toilet experience. Then I washed my feet. So gross.

After everyone else had been taken care of, I took care of myself. Rather, I told the kids not to touch the controls for the changing table.  Then, I watched Kiddo #2 try to get on the change table, while concocting a plan that had Kiddo #1 as a ride-operator (I hesitate to use the word "carnie") making the table go up and down in a sort of carnivalesque ride while I went pee. 

Me: Don't ride the change table.

Kiddos: Awwww!

Me: It's a machine to help people. Plus, it's where bare butts go.

Kiddo #2: So should I take off my pants?

Me: GAH! No! Just it's not a toy.

Kiddo #1: Kiddo #2, it's an important tool helping babies and big kids get diapers changed.

Kiddo #2: I'm a big boy and I don't have a diaper.

Me: Yes. Sometimes big boys and girls have diapers. But you don't get one. 

Kiddo#2: Can I just use one sometimes?

Me: No. We've worked too hard to potty train you. 

Kiddo #2: But...

Me: No.

Kiddo #2: But...

Me: Get off the change table. 

Kiddo #2: You don't have to say it a thousand times... geez. 

(You see the drama in this boy? He might be the death of me.)

Kiddo #2, dismayed, then went around to the light switch and began turning it on and off like I was in the middle of a discotheque at 2am.  Fearing a seizure, I used my trademarked, "Please don't touch the WORLD" line and he, much like a cat, stopped doing what he was doing, made a grumpy gesture, and moved to the next thing.

Pee. That's all I had to do, but somehow, this allowed for my son to play DJ with the lights, start the screaming hand dryer and then run over and hit the unlock button for the door, which, just for your information, is also the open-the-door-at-lightspeed button. 

Does the door open facing (me on) the toilet or facing the other wall, you wonder?

If you have to ask, you weren't there for the show.

As I was sitting there, pants at my ankles, my son hits the unlock/open door button and my entire world changed in a heartbeat.  

"Dat door is powing Mommy off the toiwet."

I lunged forward to hold the door from opening, which is about as effective as stopping a charging rhino with a Japanese paper screen. I grabbed it with my left hand while the ultra-strong door continued to push its way open as though I wasn't holding it at all. Taking a step forward because the door was dragging my carcass with it, my white arse began hanging in the air.  With my right hand, I grabbed for my pants while being swept into the lobby by the robotic door with my left.  The only thing that would have made that scene more perfect would be had I been wearing rollerblades.  

I whisper shouted to Kiddo #1 to help me!

She, panicking, ran over from the change table where she'd been playing, knocked into me. Yes, she hit my elbow, which were I not trying to pull up my pants, shut a door, and also NOT show the entire world my VAGINA, sent me flying. Flying in an off-balance penguin waddle, my coochie arrived on the scene, followed by my iridescent-white hiney.  Oh, the humanity.

Summoning my inner Medusa, I wheeled my head around 360 degrees and screamed "CHILDREN! Help your mother up and close that damned door!"

Oh, and don't think that all this didn't get documented by the THREE buses of elderly shuffling to their respective bathroom breaks. Oh what's that? When did the bus of baseball players arrive? Well my dear 12-year old boys, I'm sorry if this is the first vagina you've ever seen, although it might keep teen pregnancy rates astonishingly low in Grand Rapids, Michigan (per the sign on the bus I read afterwards).  I heard one oldster (loudly) say to his wife, "Delores, are we already watching Hamlet?"  Delores, (also deaf) replied, "Charles, really. There are no vaginas in Shakespeare."

I, of course, tried to get up like an inch-worm. I think I was trying to preserve my dignity by not just standing up and giving everyone a full frontal, but let's be honest, me doing a mostly-naked downward dog was NOT helping the situation.

I swooped back into the bathroom, drop-kicked the door shut and pulled up my pants while my children stood there speechless.  ... Or they were terrified to move, breathe or say anything lest the mighty T-Rex notice them and eat them whole.  Either way, there was a whole lot of radio silence. 

Sweating, raging, and feeling like now, after two kids and THIS show, the literal world has seen my vagina, I closed my eyes and fought the urge to ask everyone at the rest stop for $5.

Then I remembered why the internet was invented and realized I won't be making any cashola off my "performance" when they can get free videos online, anytime.  Bah. Where's the silver lining?

Well, the "silver lining" is safely tucked in my pants where it belongs. 

I should've taken my chances on the side of the highway like any normal human.

On The Side Of The Road Again Pt 1

I grew up in a house that was constantly on the go. Even moreso during my teenaged-years, our home was more like a hotel that we slept in than a home that we did stuff in; between travel sports, school clubs, and part-time jobs, our house was where we parked the car between sleeps.

Because of that, I grew up thinking that every family spent more hours on the road than anywhere else, and therefore the inevitable pull-over-to-pee problem was commonplace and a non-issue. 

My children, however, for reasons that kinda astound me, haven't ever had to learn the delicate art of taking a whiz while cars speed by, hoping against hope that no one can see your arse and that the wind doesn't shift and you don't pee all over your pants and shoes again. The joys of femalehood. Femaledom. Being a chick.

So, when my 98% potty-trained son returned, triumphant, from his trip from Grandma's house in Amsterdam to our house, 1.5 hours away, I felt a disturbance in the force.

Me: Hey buddy! How was Grandpa's house?

Kiddo #2: MOM! Somesing so cwazy happened!

Me: Wow! What's that buddy?

Kiddo #2: MOM! I peed!

Me: On the potty! Wow! Great job, kiddo!

Kiddo #2: NO! MOM! I peed ON DA SIDE OF DA WOAD!

Me: Wh-what?

Grandma: (giggling) Uh, well he (giggle) had to go and there wasn't a rest stop for miles!

Kiddo #1: WHAT! Kiddo #2! You can't pee on the road! A ninja will come out of the grass and bite you and you will DIE!

Me: (audible sigh) Well, that's kinda what I told you, Kiddo #1, to get you to hold it to the rest stop. It's hard to pee on the side of the road when you're a girl.

Kiddo #1: You won't DIE?!? (followed with the look of a girl wondering what the hell else I'd misled her about)

Not only are porta-pottys off-limits for concert goers, but concert putter-on-ers, too.

I guess, as a mom, I wasn't doing my job. Apparently, after thanking my mother (kinda sarcastically) for teaching him that, I spoke to lots of other people (men, women, whatever) and they all agree it's some kind of right-of-passage to learn to pee in the great outdoors. The Great Outdoors, to me, means roughing it in a skanky gas station bathroom, not in The Bush.

Female Friend: How do you expect Kiddo #1 to survive an outdoor music festival if you don't teach her how to pee outside?

Me: Holy shit. She's 6. Are we supposed to go touring with Phish this summer or can it wait a few more years?

Female Friend: I'm telling you, your kids need to know how to pee in nature or they'll be serial killers.

Me: Only serial killers need to know how to pee in a forest-- and that's only until they're caught and put back in a cell with a freakin' toilet again.

However, so far, my favourite part of my son knowing he can pee on the side of the road is that every time we get into the car, he starts dancing and whining that he needs to pee right now, and I can't hold it Momma, you have to stop on the side of the road.

So, as fate would have it, on one of the hottest days of the eternal hell that is Summer, my son had himself a bunch of water, and then found a juice box, and finished off two gulps of yellow Gatorade. We were headed to Amsterdam and we weren't 15 minutes of the 90 minute ride when Kiddo #2 said, with a truly panicked voice, "MOM! I need to pee-at-the-side-of-the-road NOW!"  

Kiddo #1 said, "Uh, Mom, he's pretty freaked out."

Fantastic. I could see the highway on ramp. We were so close to ... absolutely nothing.

Double fantastic.  I glanced around and, yep, the cop that had been hiding behind me was still there. I don't know, but I'm pretty sure pissing on the side of the road is illegal, or at least if I came to a screeching halt on the side of the road, s/he would wonder if everything was ok, and if it wasn't illegal, by the time s/he'd checked my licence and told me not to do it again, Kiddo #2 would've pissed his pants anyway.  Frick.

I told Kiddo #2 to hold it and that we'd stop as soon as I could. 

10 minutes later, to a chorus of screaming children like the scene from Reservoir Dogs where Mr White is trying to distract Mr Orange from his impending demise,  I was singing "You're gonna be oh-kaaaay."  Honestly, this scene, if replaced by a kid needing to pee, is pretty much how the whole 10 minutes went until the cop finally guns it around me and I count to 5 before screeching to that halt I was talking about earlier, and leaping from the car.

I unbuckle Kiddo #2 and open the car door to shield him from someone in front of us zooming by and seeing his penis.  I stand behind him to shield him from someone behind us zooming by and seeing his (cute) butt. He pulls down his pants, still visibly panicked, and I realize 2 things. 1) it's windy and the wind is going to make him piss on his shorts and shoes, and 2) his penis is not 22 feet long-- there's no way he's gonna clear his shorts and shoes, with or without the wind support.

Things you never think about when you don't have a penis of your own.  

I lean him forward like Olympic ski jumper and he wails, "MOM! I can't pee like this!"  I say, "Yes you can! You can do this!" He says, "No I can't! I can't hold my penis and I am scared."

Frick.

I lean him back down and now he's really, really panicked. Like, wild-eyed, gonna-pee-like-a-firehose, panic and I, in my state of perpetual calm and rational thinking, scoop him up like Superman on a forklift.  He is completely parallel to the ground when he shouts, "MOM! MOM! MOM! I canNOT pee like this!"

And I, in my state of perpetual calm and rational thinking, bark, "You WILL pee like this because YOU drank enough to satiate a frickin' camel for 2 months and I'm standing on the side of the road like a NUTTER. YOU. WILL. PEE.  NOW!"

Kiddo #2, screaming, says, "I will NOT!" and I park him back on the ground abruptly.  I look him in the eyes and say, "It's time to suck it up, buttercup. THIS is why I make you pee before we leave. THIS is why I tell you when you need to stop drinking. THIS IS WHY!"  And I picked him up, put him back in the Superman position.  Seconds later, I watch him pee out, like, 4 gallons of liquid. Honestly, he peed a hard stream of pee for a really, really long time. I'm kinda sad that I made him wait because I would've been wailing around in the backseat like Mr. Orange, too if I had to pee that bad. 

Luckily, I could re-live the awesome moment of parenting all the way to Amsterdam because, I hadn't noticed at the time, but the wind picked up just enough to lightly mist both my flip-flop wearing feet. Perfect. Oh wait, that wasn't the wind. That was my son, tooting on my arm while I held him up like Superman.  

Thanks Universe.  

I put the boy back in his seat and buckle myself in when I hear a meek, "Mom, don't worry. I can hold it until the rest stop" from Kiddo #1.  

To Be Continued...

Fellowship of The Play Date

I have Speaker's Remorse.

It's kinda like Buyer's Remorse, except mine happens anywhere and everywhere, whether stores are open or not.  All I have to do is open my mouth.

Speaker's Remorse happens when things fall out of my mouth that even amaze ME, and leave me generally confused and shameful that I would even consider telling someone a story so personal/stupid/insanely truthful.  Only, the confusion and shame happen hours later as I reply the conversation trying to relive the original hilarity; I never feel shame in the moment.  Oh no, that comes on the drive home, or in the shower two days later, like some stupid 80's made-for-TV movie to keep latch-key kids from becoming sociopaths because both parents work. Awesome.

Allow me to demonstrate.

I went on a Mommy-Play-Date today, which is to say I'm auditioning a new mommy-friend to be in my inner circle of peeps. It's a hard, tricky thing, making friends of parents of friends of your kids.  This is especially true when you're horribly and profoundly, socially inept and awkward on all levels.  I make Sandra Bullock look like Kate Middleton, on a good day.

On one hand, the helicopter parent in me likes making friends of fellow parents because I can fake-parent through those other parents. (anyone else bored by using all the same words over and over again? there must be a better way to write this, but I'm too busy not weeding my garden to figure it out)

For example, when my kiddo goes to her friend Hendrix' house. Hendrix' parents are much less preoccupied with whether there are "mild, frightening scenes" in movies than I am.  So, after I made friends with Hendrix' Momma, I started dropping hints that probably Kiddo #1 would die of fright if she EVER watched  Nightmare Before Christmas. let alone Brave!  At least I assume I dropped hints like that, because while I have no recollection of having said anything of the sort, when Hendrix' little sister asked if everyone could watch Willy Wonka And the Chocolate Factory (the Depp version, if it matters to you), Hendrix' Momma deflected the request, grabbed the DVD and whisper-shouted to the toddler, "Elizabeth will punch me in the throat if we watch that right now."

"Elizabeth will punch ME IN THE THROAT! PUT that movie away NOW."

Considering how much that phrasing sounds... kinda like a quote, I can only assume I have said something of that ilk at least once before.

And that's when the Speaker's Remorse starts. It's not that I'm judging how the Hendrix family parents.  It's just that, frankly, I don't want to deal with the shitty, shitty aftermath of my kids' exposure to stuff that I can hardly handle, myself.  The nightmares, the bawling at 3am, the sleeping in our bed in perpetuity... I love my sleep way too much to be a kind, comforting parent once the sun has gone down. I'm like a Gremlin. Don't wake this bitch up after midnight, or shit will get REAL.

Don't wake up Mommy after midnight or shit will get REAL.
Plus, I sleep in the nude.

I'd rather be the parent that verbally threatens my kids' friends' parents into submission than the one who is rubbing backs while sniffly-snot and salty tears are wiped on my arm (because guess which parent lost the rock-paper-scissors AND sleeps in the nude?)

See, and there I go again-- I've announced to the entire Interwebs that I am not just a nude sleeper but that I am also the laziest parent in the world and I feel like, "Why the frick would I tell anyone that? Shouldn't that be a secret I take to my (hopefully also nude) final resting place?"

Speaker's Remorse: there is no end in sight.

But let's get back to today's swimming play date, shall we? I'm sure you're dying to hear how things went awesome, you peppy cheerleader, you.

After almost a year of "Mommy-dating" this other Mom, meaning we'd run into each other all over town, either with my kids or with hers, but never with both sets of kids together, we she texted me and invited me to a community pool to wade around while the kids mingled. Neutral territory, no cleaning of either house involved and a predetermined start and stop time. This woman is a smart cookie. She's done this before. She is amazing! I must impress her and make her want to be my friend, too! Possibly with glitter and hommus. Hummous. Chick pea spread.

And that split second is how everything always falls apart.  Not because of the chick pea spread, but because I get so excited that someone who is possibly cool wants to hang out with me. ME! The nerd from an 80's teen movie complete with braces and big hair and really terrible dance moves.

Luckily, I started off on the right foot. Wait, I mean, I started it out the normal way; I double booked the time. I get excited about making new friends (or just hanging out with regular friends) that I just scream out YES! before consulting any calendar whatosever. I was so determined to maybe (finally) make a friend of this other Mommy, that I cancelled my other thing (specialist appointments aren't THAT big a deal. I can wait another 9 months to see the Dr about the gigantic lump on my foot, right?) and hustled over to the pool.

Late.

LATE!  The Speaker's Remorse began from the first "Soooo sorry I'm late." and continued on with, "I had to try and squeeze my gigantic, lumpy foot into this flip flop and it took longer than I figured it would."  Shit. I wasn't going to draw attention to it. I was kinda hoping she wouldn't notice it.  Nice. Well played, MOUTH.

She, now concerned I might be bringing that foot issue into the (well-chlorinated, but still) pool, nervously laughed and offered to come out and sit on the sun chairs with me.

Undeterred (I hadn't even broken into my bag of oddness yet!) I hopped into the frigid waters and (teeth chattering) told her I was fine.

Over the next hour, I managed to chit-chat about such completely normal and benign topics as: ingrown hairs and how I've had the various ones removed, bizarre things I've pulled off our black lab, itchy scar tissue, and English words that gross me out (including, but not limited to: moist, syncopation, and pinafore). Yeesh.

The best part of this is, at the time, this other Mom laughed and was lovely. Wonderfully accepting, or perhaps needing a friend even more than I do, she seemed to giggle and nod or tell those "in-addition-to" stories that would then provoke more laughter and even dumber stories to come from my mouth.

We watched our kids play near each other (the joys of having super independent kids is that they don't feel the need to actually interact, which usually seems weird, but trust me, I've got weird cornered, so this just seems ok). Saved Kiddo #2  (who is only 2) from almost drowning and then remembered that I've got to put a life jacket on him or I won't be able to really dive into my collection of stupid things to say to a new friend!

I swear, conversations become games of Double Dog Dare (pitting my last comment against my next comment) in a matter of seconds.  Luckily, I keep choosing both Dare and Truth at the same time. Double Dog Yeesh.

But it wasn't until we were done in the pool, sitting there warming up like a bunch of lizards on rocks, that the weight of the words I said actually started to sink in.

Seriously? I'd said that? And that? Oooh and THAT!?! On a First-Mommy-Date?  I couldn't get out of there fast enough and I was so preoccupied with getting the hellouttathere that I didn't stop to think that it looked like I can't stand the person I'm with and that she also, maybe, smells like a dog in heat?  Gah.

I smiled and waved while hauling the kids to the car trying to escape my words that seemed to playfully skip and linger along the glistening water like the stupid foam motorcycle that Kiddo #2 spent a long time 'driving' in the pool.  Wait. No, that motorcycle is super cool, unlike my stories.  So really, that floaty foam motorcycle was actually the opposite of my anecdotes.

For the rest of the afternoon, I broke down every conversation, trying to rationalize and walk through how we went from here to there and back again, all the while wishing Gandalf had screamed out "YOU. SHALL. NOT. PASS." when I humped my lumpy foot across the threshold of the cute community pool.

It's a wonder I have friends at all.

So, if you're out there, Friend, it's me, Elizabeth. I can't wait until 2 o'clock, Friend. That's when our play date starts...

Art Party

When Kiddo #1 decided she wanted an "Art Party" for her 6th birthday, I looked at her and thought to myself, "Of COURSE you do. That's single-handedly the messiest party that exists in kid-dom."

I smiled and told her we'd think about it.  I mulled over the idea for a few days, hit up Pinterest for some inspiration, and continued to think.

And then, I realized that if I have an art party and I actually can pull this off, I can be all "Honey, we can't paint today, it's too messy. PLUS, you just had your Art Party birthday 8 months ago. Be thankful!"

Score one for moms everywhere.

The birthday girl picked her balloon bouquets all by herself.

Two nights before the Art Party, I sat on my living room couch, screwing a wood screw into the end of an empty paint can (purchased at the local hardware store) through which I could feed some fishing line so that I might create the optical illusion that some unseen force was magically pouring paint all over my house.  While I was doing this, I was thinking I may have bitten off a bit more than I could chew.  The house was a disaster, the paint can thing was starting to seem impossible and holy crapola, WHAT WAS I THINKING???

As the wood screw penetrated the can, however, tension lifted and I could suddenly see the plan coming together.  Plus, as I taped the the dollar store plastic table cloths into the paint cans, I realized they were doing double duty here: they not only looked like dripping paint but also protected the walls from the budding Jackson Pollocks.

Really, for $6 each can/table cloth combo, it makes a great décor statement, don't you think? I made another set of paint cans for the supply table (which I quickly realized I would need to put together not only for the cute display purposes, but also because keeping half a dozen 5 and 6-year olds occupied would require several different things to do, which all require several different tools.).

The dining room table with handy chair covers.

Once I set up the living room/entrance way I realized that I wouldn't have enough room to do the works of art in my kitchen (at that table), nor would the living room be the best location.  While we've destroyed the carpets in there already, paint and glue and glitter all come off wood easier than carpeting.  To the dining room I went.

It didn't occur to me that 5 and 6-year olds would be painting, cutting, gluing, beading and otherwise making gigantic messes on my precious dining room furniture until the morning of the party.  Luckily I bought a couple of heavy duty table cloths and had another mom come over and cut them into chair covers.  Best. Idea. Ever.  Seriously. I truly think that was the most innovative thing we did that day, and we did a ton of stuff.

Here are the little dollar store easels and canvas set up at each kiddo's spot at the table. That particular canvas was used to make a collage (gluing an old story book that we ripped up/cut up, added tissue paper and bits of scrapbooking fodder). It was our first work and it was super fun to watch the kids get down with glue. Oh, the little aprons on each chair were part of their favour. I bought some canvas at JoAnn's, sewed them together, adding ribbon to tie them.  It was fun and cheaper than buying the packs of 5 aprons for $30 at JoAnn's, but I also picked sale fabrics.

Here's the supply table where my other two paint cans were "spilling" (seriously, I want to use these somewhere in the house but can't quite figure out where. Maybe the craft table downstairs? Kiddo #2's big boy room?)

It was super fun putting paint brushes in big containers, and covering recycled stuff with ribbon to make it look jazzy. Seriously, this was such a fun party to decorate!

If you have a keen eye, you'll see that our wedding picture is hanging above the supply table. Mostly I didn't think about it. Huh. It's our 10 year anniversary this year, actually. Talk about a work of art. Ba-dum-bum.

Let's see what else is in this picture. The bigger canvasses (on the right) were for their paintings, as was the various acrylic paints).  The roll of white paper (middle of the picture) was for frottage (we went for a walk on the hottest day of the world and collected leaves and sticks and things that we could do paper rubbings with crayons).

Such a fun time for Art!

Frottage

It was cute and a good little walk to break up the party.  I made some Shrinky Dink jewellery things with each kiddo's initial on it. On the back there was a "thank you for coming to my party" message.  (Do you remember Shrinky Dinks? Those plastic forms you'd colour and put in the oven to shrink them to 1/10th their original size? I think I had Smurfs ones once).  So I made some for the kids and then put a jump ring on them and gave them to each kiddo.  With that, each child got a cord, some pony beads and I also gave each kiddo a washer (again from the local hardware store) that I'd painted with nail polish.  Pinterest, seriously, you are AWESOME.

Jewellery Making

By the end of our party, each kiddo took home a collage canvas, a frottage paper, a canvas she'd painted, a necklace she'd made and an apron.  In retrospect, I think I should've had them decorate a paper bag for the LOOT they'd make, instead of sending each kid home with her stuff in a plastic bag from the grocery store. But that's just an upgrade for next time.  Oh, and I had these great marbles to make paint with marbles-- I had great boxes in which we were going to tape a paper, then add some paint in globs, throw in some marbles and slowly roll the marbles through the paint to create crazy lines.  We didn't get to that, and that's ok.  I always have too much stuff for the kids to do.  I also cut salt dough sculptures mostly because I dried out the dough beforehand. Oops.  See, I have an intense fear of kids hopped up on birthday madness tearing me apart because there's a lull in the activities, so I over plan.

Cutest. Cupcakes. Ever.

OH, but here's the BEST part.  I can't bake. Well, that's not the best part, but it leads to the best part.
Check out the cupcakes my not-quite-sister-in-law made! I nearly died when I saw them!  And they tasted amazing-- no dairy, no eggs in them, and yet they were amazingly kid-friendly.  Everyone loved them and I really can't tell you how amazingly cute they were! (I'll let the exclamation marks speak for me!)

Such a fun day!

Does your kiddo want to have an art party? What kinds of activities will you have the children do?