Confessions of a wallflower
It's the day of the birthday party my sweet Aden has been looking forward to, like, forever. Because it's been, like, forever since friend's Mama sent me a save-the-date text.
I really, really like friend's Mama. Friendly and genuine and loves the Lord and, ahem, loaded, and volunteers for everything and would probably handle a spider dropping into her line of vision while driving with utter grace and humor. I really like her, and am thankful to be getting to know her.
That said, rich friend's birthday party had been on the calendar for months. At the bounce place. Because of course it was. Bought the gift, tried to get Aden to write legibly on the card, then we set out after church.
Bless Aden's heart, we hardly go anywhere that costs money. What a treat for this boy.
I caught both shoes as he threw them at me, accepted what I already knew would happen - that I would know no other adults there besides friend's very busy Mama - and found a perch on the perimeter.
I'm an introvert, y'all, and this kind of thing ranks right up there with licking the driveway. But be an introvert long enough, you'll stop fighting it, embrace it, and eventually revel in it. The face pleasant enough to convince everyone else that you're not creepy comes naturally, and people-watching turns out to be fantastic fun.
So there I sat for a while, that mom (great article), watching the BFFs reunite and compliment each other on their leggings. Never. Never ever.
And I'm fine. Really, this aloneness is OK with me. I've never really fully fit anywhere except with closest family, and it's perfectly normal.
Two problems, though. My chosen perch did not have views of all the, um, rides? so I only caught a glimpse of Aden every few minutes. And in trying not to disappoint my husband by following my kid around the entire time, I stayed put. But watching other people's kids gets a little boring.
The other problem was that right next to me was this super-cool looking, um, ride, a fifteen-foot steep, slippery slide with this big, soft landing area at the bottom. And I wanted to do it, y'all. A few months ago I'd have said it wouldn't be worth the struggle of getting my obese self up the climbing ramp thingy to the top. But now that I'm working on getting my obese self relatively in shape and quite a bit stronger, I knew I could reach the top pretty easily. And man, oh man did it look like fun.
I didn't do it. Which took more willpower and inner strength than self-isolation.
Eventually a random dad sat down on the bench beside me. And I felt for him, I really did. Being an introvert is no picnic, but being an extremely-outnumbered dad in this kid hullaballoo? Bless his heart.
I pleasant-faced him as he sat down, and in the span of about ninety seconds, we had said all the things you're supposed to say in this particular situation:
"Which kid is yours?" "That one, which kid is yours?" "That one." "Oh, OK."
"What a way to spend a beautiful Sunday afternoon."
"Never had anyone sign a waiver for any of my birthday parties growing up."
"Yep, we were born at the wrong time. We had to do this stuff on the couch."
"The kids ought to be plenty worn out by the time we get out of here."
And done. Dude, I'm out. If you want this conversation to go further, you're gonna have to carry it. Ninety-six minutes left to this party, and I got nothing.
Y'all, I can't do it. Talking to grown-ups I don't know petrifies me. After the hellos, I freeze up completely. It's not that I'm trying to be hateful or don't care, not at all. I'll fix a meal for you! Send your kid over here, I can talk to them, no problem! Sometimes I think I need to wear a sandwich board: I'm not mean. I don't think I'm better than you. I just have trouble talking. Thanks.
Ugh. Uncomfortable dad and I apparently had an unspoken truce that we'd just allow the awkward silence to flow, and after about twenty minutes I realized I hadn't seen Aden in, like, twenty minutes. So I left my precious perch, twisted my way through the mommy-groups, and found Aden happily bouncing with his buddies.
I found another seat nearer to Aden, who of course ran off again, and then the hullaballoo became an all-out rave. The tweens in charge of the building cut the lights off, turned on the blacklights and disco globes, and blared the Kidz Bop.
It was at this moment that I heard my kid shout over everything, "Dance party!" Looking in that direction, I barely made out Aden's silhouette in the darkness, arms and legs flailing to the beat. By himself.
Aden? Not an introvert.
Because there wasn't much to see in the darkness except seizure-inducing chaos, I turned completely inward and spent the next half-hour or so composing this blog post in my mind. And of course the stream of consciousness took over.
If there was a way to blog your thoughts without having to type anything, my three readers would have so much more to read. And I'd probably have a lot more regrets.
About half the time, I prefer the Kidz Bop version to the actual version.
My black shirt has fuzz on it that was invisible til this dern blacklight came on. It's enough fuzz that it looks like it's supposed to be there, though, so we're good.
Aden's socks aren't glowing as bright as all the other kids' socks. Oh, except that one. We're good.
If I went and did that big slide in the dark, maybe no one would notice.
Why on earth do you serve a meal at 3:45? No one eats then. I haven't eaten since 7:30 and dinner won't fit in anywhere. At least no one can hear my stomach over the music.
Those seventy-somethings must be birthday boy's great-grandparents. I wonder what they think of all this. They should start a blog.
Why on earth is your kid in a frilly dress at the bounce place?
Wow, really? You're holding your six-year-old's hand through the obstacle course? Doesn't bode well, girlfriend.
Sorry. Keeping it real.
After what seemed like seven hours, we were herded into the party room where my son consumed three pieces of pizza, a handful of chicken nuggets, fruit, cheez doodles, four cups of orange soda, and a blue-and-purple icing-laden cupcake. Then birthday boy handed Aden a goody bag filled with noisy toys, gummy bears, and chocolate candy.
He slept most of the way home. And I wanted to. In celebration of bounce birthday survival.
Life abundant, even for the wallflower.
I really, really like friend's Mama. Friendly and genuine and loves the Lord and, ahem, loaded, and volunteers for everything and would probably handle a spider dropping into her line of vision while driving with utter grace and humor. I really like her, and am thankful to be getting to know her.
That said, rich friend's birthday party had been on the calendar for months. At the bounce place. Because of course it was. Bought the gift, tried to get Aden to write legibly on the card, then we set out after church.
Bless Aden's heart, we hardly go anywhere that costs money. What a treat for this boy.
I caught both shoes as he threw them at me, accepted what I already knew would happen - that I would know no other adults there besides friend's very busy Mama - and found a perch on the perimeter.
I'm an introvert, y'all, and this kind of thing ranks right up there with licking the driveway. But be an introvert long enough, you'll stop fighting it, embrace it, and eventually revel in it. The face pleasant enough to convince everyone else that you're not creepy comes naturally, and people-watching turns out to be fantastic fun.
So there I sat for a while, that mom (great article), watching the BFFs reunite and compliment each other on their leggings. Never. Never ever.
And I'm fine. Really, this aloneness is OK with me. I've never really fully fit anywhere except with closest family, and it's perfectly normal.
Two problems, though. My chosen perch did not have views of all the, um, rides? so I only caught a glimpse of Aden every few minutes. And in trying not to disappoint my husband by following my kid around the entire time, I stayed put. But watching other people's kids gets a little boring.
The other problem was that right next to me was this super-cool looking, um, ride, a fifteen-foot steep, slippery slide with this big, soft landing area at the bottom. And I wanted to do it, y'all. A few months ago I'd have said it wouldn't be worth the struggle of getting my obese self up the climbing ramp thingy to the top. But now that I'm working on getting my obese self relatively in shape and quite a bit stronger, I knew I could reach the top pretty easily. And man, oh man did it look like fun.
I didn't do it. Which took more willpower and inner strength than self-isolation.
Eventually a random dad sat down on the bench beside me. And I felt for him, I really did. Being an introvert is no picnic, but being an extremely-outnumbered dad in this kid hullaballoo? Bless his heart.
I pleasant-faced him as he sat down, and in the span of about ninety seconds, we had said all the things you're supposed to say in this particular situation:
"Which kid is yours?" "That one, which kid is yours?" "That one." "Oh, OK."
"What a way to spend a beautiful Sunday afternoon."
"Never had anyone sign a waiver for any of my birthday parties growing up."
"Yep, we were born at the wrong time. We had to do this stuff on the couch."
"The kids ought to be plenty worn out by the time we get out of here."
And done. Dude, I'm out. If you want this conversation to go further, you're gonna have to carry it. Ninety-six minutes left to this party, and I got nothing.
Y'all, I can't do it. Talking to grown-ups I don't know petrifies me. After the hellos, I freeze up completely. It's not that I'm trying to be hateful or don't care, not at all. I'll fix a meal for you! Send your kid over here, I can talk to them, no problem! Sometimes I think I need to wear a sandwich board: I'm not mean. I don't think I'm better than you. I just have trouble talking. Thanks.
Ugh. Uncomfortable dad and I apparently had an unspoken truce that we'd just allow the awkward silence to flow, and after about twenty minutes I realized I hadn't seen Aden in, like, twenty minutes. So I left my precious perch, twisted my way through the mommy-groups, and found Aden happily bouncing with his buddies.
I found another seat nearer to Aden, who of course ran off again, and then the hullaballoo became an all-out rave. The tweens in charge of the building cut the lights off, turned on the blacklights and disco globes, and blared the Kidz Bop.
It was at this moment that I heard my kid shout over everything, "Dance party!" Looking in that direction, I barely made out Aden's silhouette in the darkness, arms and legs flailing to the beat. By himself.
Aden? Not an introvert.
Because there wasn't much to see in the darkness except seizure-inducing chaos, I turned completely inward and spent the next half-hour or so composing this blog post in my mind. And of course the stream of consciousness took over.
If there was a way to blog your thoughts without having to type anything, my three readers would have so much more to read. And I'd probably have a lot more regrets.
About half the time, I prefer the Kidz Bop version to the actual version.
My black shirt has fuzz on it that was invisible til this dern blacklight came on. It's enough fuzz that it looks like it's supposed to be there, though, so we're good.
Aden's socks aren't glowing as bright as all the other kids' socks. Oh, except that one. We're good.
If I went and did that big slide in the dark, maybe no one would notice.
Why on earth do you serve a meal at 3:45? No one eats then. I haven't eaten since 7:30 and dinner won't fit in anywhere. At least no one can hear my stomach over the music.
Those seventy-somethings must be birthday boy's great-grandparents. I wonder what they think of all this. They should start a blog.
Why on earth is your kid in a frilly dress at the bounce place?
Wow, really? You're holding your six-year-old's hand through the obstacle course? Doesn't bode well, girlfriend.
Sorry. Keeping it real.
After what seemed like seven hours, we were herded into the party room where my son consumed three pieces of pizza, a handful of chicken nuggets, fruit, cheez doodles, four cups of orange soda, and a blue-and-purple icing-laden cupcake. Then birthday boy handed Aden a goody bag filled with noisy toys, gummy bears, and chocolate candy.
He slept most of the way home. And I wanted to. In celebration of bounce birthday survival.
Life abundant, even for the wallflower.
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