I think my inner perfectionist is to thank when it comes to parties. It’s a quality I absolutely love yet explicitly hate about myself. The need to have every little detail perfect, the inner struggle of when to call it quits (and just go the heck to bed). My mind becomes a rambling binder of checklists that have me pegged down to minutes within hours making me perhaps the biggest stress ball slightly north of Washington D.C. The latest evidence of such hair-pulling absurdity would be my son’s birthday. His first birthday. The one and only birthday he will remember for the rest of his life — or so I told myself. I started cake planning roughly 6 months into his life and menu planning 3 months prior to the big day because my perfectionism likes to morph into OCD hopped up on insanity on any occasion it can.
It had to be his favorite food turned cake — even if that meant broccoli (thank gawd it wasn’t) and had to be themed with his favorite thing all year. But folks, there is no “sleep” cake flavor. No theme matching his favorite toy — an empty water bottle filled with the last remaining lentils from the pantry. No fun to be had with pretty much everything being my son’s favorite thing. I mean, it’s a blessing when your kid’s not picky. Mine will eat anything, including shoe soles, broccoli and lamb chops, will calm down when anything is placed in his hands to play with, thank you lentils, and has slept for 12 hours every night since he was 8 weeks old, plus naps people, plus naps. I swear that’s why he is the size of a three year old. But it all makes for a lame birthday party if those are your favorite things, right? Lentils, sleep and shoe soles anyone?