Fist Bump. Balalalala.

We are big fans of Disney animation in this house. I don't cry often, but when I do, it's normally because I am watching a made believe character who just experienced a tragic event and overcame it. Even with reruns, I become this big old mess. I am worst with Toy Story 3.

Every year, after my kids' combined party, I make a note and say I will never have a house party again. The prep, mess, and chaos are not even the reasons. My AC unit always breaks down the day of the party. Imagine 60+ people to include both kids and adults. All cooped up in my living room in the 90-degree Georgia humid summer weather. Every year since we've gotten this house, it's been the same story. Then, I get in this mode of choosing a character that Party City doesn't carry decor for weeks prior, and I run with it. I come up with unique designs and games. I become committed and I never look back. Same story every time. Darn AC unit fails every time.

The outcome is a bit of magic. Everything falls into place and my kids have a blast. The guests' bellies fill up and the kids go home with sugar rush.

Food: We served buffet style of pizza, hotdogs, and Filipino cuisine. 
Games: Pin Baymax's eyes, Pingpong with Baymax's eyes Spoon Race, Build your own Baymax using marshmallows and toothpicks.

 

Next year, I might do Finding Nemo theme since my favorite movie's sequel is finally coming out! I am more than excited. I have waited more than a decade for it.

Vanity

Warning: This post has a lot of quotation marks.

I try very hard to not let my husband know I have somewhere to go until I am on my way out the door. If he knows in advance, he always asks one of the kids to go with me. I put off running errands until the weekend to be efficient. It takes four times as long if I have one of them with me. Okay, fine, I admit it. It's really because I like listening to West Coast rap in high volume on my way to anywhere.

Last weekend was expected. I accidentally asked him if he could check if we had onions for me as I was getting ready. "We only have one left. Are you going to the store to get some?" He knew! Of course he offered one of the kids to tag along and be my "helper". I chose the one that's potty trained. As we were walking out, he jokingly asked why I was dolled and dressed up. I answered sarcastically, "Well you know, I have to impress people I might meet while I look helpless reaching for peanut butter." He laughed.

Seriously though, I dress up so I am not mistaken for the babysitter. It sounds shallow at a glance until  you are actually in my size 5 shoes. I am always mistaken for the babysitter. When I go by myself, I don't mind when they think I am just this 15 year old that can drive, and really needed pasture-raised eggs. With my kid attached to my hip, though, I just make it a point to always look like I am the parent. It makes me feel better about myself.

Plus, it's different with women. I had a friend who used to borrow my kid to walk around the stores with him. Females would approach him and admire my baby. I am sure the same goes for my husband. It's different for us women. It's definitely opposite for me. I have not had a man or woman approach me and admire my children. Unless they're beautiful grandparents. My kids' and their souls always connect. There really just isn't any  "are you a single parent in need of someone to help you, I'll be that person for you" look that goes my way. Ever. I just get the "you are a great babysitter" look. So yes, I do dress up more when one of my babies have to tag along. I'll just leave my husband thinking it's for some other reason.