Hello friends! Ah, I’ve missed you and this crazy thing called the internet. I can’t believe it’s nearly the middle of June already. Time flies when you aren’t documenting it.

When I last left you, Ava was near comatose in her booster seat. Had I known that posting that picture would have resulted in my assuming the same status for nearly two weeks, I would have strongly reconsidered it. I (and Ava) have come out of the fog, but that is another post.

There is a question that I must address first. Party or no party–it’s quite a cliffhanger.

Given my flair for the melodramatic and penchant for suspenseful posts, I clearly should pursue writing soap operas. Though I think at my recent rate of output most viewers would have switched stations by now.

For all of you who are still tuning in let me introduce you to what I call one-child-math: one child plus drop-off birthday party equals free time. And in this instance, free date time. Nate and I were dropping Ava off and going to have a party of our own.

So you can be sure that we unbuckled the child, carried her and the present inside and set them down in the gift pile. We would have left them there and tip-toed out the back, but one whiff of gummy worm laden cupcakes and Ava bounced up like the bright red balloons lining the ceiling.

When we returned two hours later, we literally had to tie a string to her and pull her back out to the car.

I do not have the same helium like reflexes and should have known that this was one party too many. It is best to stop when you are ahead. And by ahead, I’m referring to dropping a sleep-walking child off at a party.

So on Thursday when I realized at four o’clock that Ava was supposed be dropped off at a five o’clock for a birthday party that I had COMPLETELY forgotten about, I should have cut the losses and called to cancel.

Nate had planned a date night for us that Thursday and had even arranged for some friends to watch Ava. So, at four o’clock I remembered that Ava has this party and then the whole one-child-math sequence kicked in. I called Nate and he agreed to be home in half an hour and then I called our friends and freed up their evening.

Now I needed a present. A present for a boy. I handed Ava some paper, stickers, and markers and instructed her to make a card, while I ran downstairs to survey my paltry stash of possible presents. My mom has always had a large stash of potential presents for all occasions. Whenever she is shopping she picks up this and that to be given to unknown recipient for an unforseen event. I do not have that gift, and therefore do not have that stash.

I have a shelf in my basement with a few random things that I’ve found on clearance. Most of them are designated for Ava or destined for donation. These are not things that I give to other people for presents. But, I was desperate.

I immediately spied this cranium game that I bought when Ava was too young to play it. I quickly scratched up the clearance price tags, threw it in a gift bag, stuffed some tissue it in, and ran back up stairs.

Upstairs, Ava had finished her birthday card creation and even had time to wrap up her own contribution to the gift: carrot sticks. That’s right, carrot sticks. We are generous family.

I was feeling down right proud of myself twenty minutes later when I dropped her and the gift off at the party on time. Nate and I were nearly giddy as we zipped away to our date of steak and sweet wine.

Two hours later, we returned high on love and sweet chocolate ganache. Hand-in-hand we walk in to find our daughter in half the outfit we dropped her off in.

“She had a bit of an accident,” the mom said handing me a bag of wet clothes. “We were opening the gifts when Ava walked in, held out her underwear and said, ‘They’re wet.'”

Clearly decorum and modesty are values that we are instilling in our precious girl.

We walked out to the backyard to retrieve our delicate flower from the swings and make our way back through the house to the car. Midway through our retreat we passed the mountain of gifts. On the very top of the pile I spied our present with a BRIGHT PINK TAG that said $4.00.

FOUR.

FOUR DOLLARS.

FOUR.

First, I was shocked that the present had only been four dollars and second, um, I was quite sure that I had scratched off all the clearance tags.

Mortified, I quickly bent over to scratch off the offensive tag. And then I heard it. The phrase that has still sends shivers through my skin:

“Oh, don’t worry. I already saw it.”

Mmm-hmm, that was the mom. She saw it. And worse, she saw me trying to scrape away my shame. Let me just state this again, I wrapped up a four dollar clearance gift and gave it to a child for his birthday.

I might have well wrapped up four tarnished pennies or six wilted carrot sticks.

She tried to say something about how the birthday boy had always wanted this game and actually goes to the neighbors house to borrow it, but I was too busy trying to burn a hole through the floor to even hear what concessions she was trying make for me.

“We’re the cheapo’s,” Nate muttered to me as we ducked out of the house.

Instantly, Ava starting singing, “WE’RE THE CHEAPO’S! WE’RE THE CHEAPO’S” at the top of her lungs as she skipped her mismatched self all the way to the car. It’s a moment I will cherish forever.

That’s the kind of excitement that you’ve been missing folks.

It’s enough to make a person dig a hole and bury themselves for three weeks, but not quite. More on the unexplained absence tomorrow. We’re off to the beach. ‘Cause, that’s right, it’s summer now.

As for you, what’s your worst party blooper? Do tell.