It’s 3:00 am on the eve of my kid's Birthday. And once again, I have transformed into a fairy.
On 3 nights of the year (there are 3 ‘shes’), I grow wings (get the ladder out of the garage), and pull a magical birthday wonderland of colorful streamers and twinkly orbs out of my butt (go to the dollar store and buy a bunch of party shit and balloons to throw up on the walls of her room) for the little princesses to wake up to. As my fairy magic has matured, a process has evolved:
1) wait patiently (wine helps) until the kid falls asleep.
2) wait another 45-minutes after that for the deep, dreamless sleep (to further minimize the likelihood that she’ll wake up if I accidentally step on her face).
3) sneak into her room and voluntarily engage my fight-or-flight response for an eternity as I decorate her room with crepe paper (SCRRRRAPE & CRRRUNCH), scotch tape (“SHHHHHT!…SNAP!”), helium balloons (“BLUUUM!” & “BLAAAM!” – or whatever is the sound of helium balloons knocking together in the quiet of the night), ribbon, and a gift bag with tissue paper (“SHWOOT!” & “CRUNCH!”).
4) have another glass of wine and lament the 6 months I just shaved off of my life before putting myself and my frazzled nervous system to bed.
5) wake up in the morning and remember why I love being the birthday fairy.
Though exhausted from the mental marathon from the night before, it’s so worth it when she comes in my room with the sentiment of a Christmas morning painted on her face: “Something magical came in the middle of the night, just for me.” And the words that make it all worth it:
“Mom! She came!”Read More