Children everywhere. People to be social with. A cake that is going to take me five solid days of labor to top. Seriously, it's a tower! No fondant though, all done in buttercream, with a toy topper. Little mini cupcakes arranged thoughtfully with a little Spiderman crouched on each one, ready to pounce.
My children are over there. Obviously, I'm not.
Let's start at the beginning, shall we? Against all odds, the children bedded down for a nap, in tandem, slept well, woke up at the same time. Little Girl woke up slightly grumpy, Angel Baby woke up screaming. I eventually sent Little Girl and Miss Tween over to the party while I settled Angel Baby.
I even put on lipstick for this thing.
Then, I started across the street for the party, and that's when the trouble really began.
The dog had a panic attack. I've been that neighbor with that dog for a long time...but this was worse. Across the street, in the neighbor's back yard, I could hear the dog body slamming herself desperately against the window. It was bad. The front picture window shimmered against her weight.
And she was STILL crying. Loudly.
But not as loudly as she would when I ran across the street and tied her outside. We're talking screaming, barking, yelping, straining against her collar, in a blind panic.
So for the third and final time, I put her inside, where she ripped a giant hole in my couch.
Yeah, I'm pissed. Sort of. Because now, I'm home in a house that has never been this quiet since I moved in, dog sleeping quietly, exhausted from being a total bitch (ha! for appropriate use of the term!) while someone else watches my children.
Now I get the baby and the dog. Oh well. The fifteen minutes of quiet time were almost worth the two hours it's going to take me to fix the couch.