hy-ut

I traveled 435 miles for my granddaughters' birthday parties and it's in a place filled with huge inflated balloon structures where children can jump and smash into each other. We store our coolers and boxes right next to a group of kids wearing helmets and kicking each other in the stomach. This party place doubles as a martial arts school and I ponder the implications of all this.

Thirty-six children have been invited to this party and two of them  have peanut allergies, curses and a parent hands me a flowery red suede pencil case containing an adreneline injection and a typed list of instructions. Out of my league as I read all the scary recommendations, benedryl and various inhalers and I bleat pitifully for my daughter-in-law and I watch her eyes grow wide as she reads. And here we thought keeping the veggie dip cold would be the biggest challenge.

The singing of happy birthday helps drown out the "HY-UT UH-HUT BATTER UP" chanting of the juvenile ninjas. We return the greasy-faced children to their parents each with a Snoopy balloon and allergy dad picks up his little nut-challenged child and we never had to open that red pencil case.

 

As an established introvert I avoid all gatherings be they business, religious, social club, tupperware-related and some family stuff  just because well, most of us feel the same way but events with children are in a different category. They qualify as a safe zone.

The next morning early on I feel more than hear a rustling near my bed. I open my eyes and see a large plastic barrel of snap-together beads two inches from my face. And then I see a sweet little face (although not this wet) dancing close by waiting for me to leave this bed and make her a necklace.