Our friends Bubba and Kimberly Labas were throwing a party to celebrate their one-year-old's birthday and it was time to get ready. If you've never tried to get a four-year-old, a two-year-old and a 9-month-old out the door, for anything, much less an event requiring punctuality, let me give you a glimpse into our little world - a dark dark world where your wife has a fractured hip.
First, you have to get clothes for all three girls. And they can't be just any clothes. They have to "cute." AB doesn't want the girls looking like rif raf off the street. She also believes in matching outfits. So you run upstairs, get outfits, socks and clean diapers for all the girls, except for Gracie, she uses the potty now. You also need shoes for each child. Even though that sounds simple, it rarely is, because their shoes are always scattered all about the house, the car, or at Granny's house. It's a little bit like a timed scavenger hunt with no prize.
After five minutes of scurrying about picking outfits and shoes, it's time to change diapers. Today, Addie and Audrey both had presents for me in their diapers. Of course, it took me an extra four minutes to catch Addie before I could change her diaper. Hiding from me has become fun game for her. Then it's time to make sure Gracie uses the potty appropriately. I want go into detail.
Most times, the crying begins here. Usually because one of them had to quit playing with a toy just long enough to change clothes. The sound of a crying child always quickens my heart rate, which isn't good because I'm already huffing from running up the stairs to get the clothes and chasing Addie to change her diaper. I suppose as a father of three little ones I should be more layed back, but I'm not.
After wrestling clothes on everyone, the tears really crank up as it's time for Mom to do everbody's hair. Addie habitually sounds like she's getting beaten with a 2 x 4. Amazingly, she always pulls it together the second AB stops brushing. As though it didn't really hurt that bad after all. Hmmm. Gracie tries to make everything a debate. A debate she can't win, but refuses to lose.
Today, Anita Beth decided to put curlers in their hair. Addie hasn't worn alot of curlers, so she thought they were the equivalent of wearing a bow. She refused to take the curlers out of her hair. All the way to party AB tried to coax her into letting go of the curlers. "NO!" Addie would say.
While Anita Beth does hair I back her up with supporting shouts of "Get in there and obey your Mother!" or , "You better listen to your Mother!" During this time I also pack the baby's bottle and diaper bag and start getting everything ready to get out the door.
When the last child is brushed we're ready for launch. I start singing "Let's go to Mommy's car," over and over again until one of them actually starts heading that direction. I scoop up the baby and the diaper bag, grab AB's purse and head to the car. After more wrestling and some amount of whining everybody is buckled into their carseat.
Once the entire family is in the car I usually have to run back inside and get all the stuff I forgot, usually my phone or my wallet. Sometimes a coat or a cup of coffee. Then I jump back in the car and exhale. As I back the minivan out of the garage with everyone securely buckled in their seats I visualize myself as a rodeo cowboy throwing his hands up in the air right after he roped the calf and tied his feet together. Victory!
And that's how we got in the car for John Burton's birthday party. But it was worth it to see John Burton eat his own blue cake and smear icing all over his face. We had a great time. Here's some pictures.
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