Erma has been counting down her birthday for about 366 days. (It was a Leap Year. The torture was even more drawn out than it would otherwise be.)
Then! Finally! Erma turned four on March 28. Somehow or other, she ended up with not one but TWO birthday parties, a cupcake party at preschool and a friends party at the children’s museum. (I blame her parents for lack of organization.)
For the past, say 178 days or so, Erma has been continuously informing me of her birthday cake. It has been the same every, single day. And it all came to fruition (cakition?) today at her second party:
As her friends gathered around the table, a fairly large number of four-ish-year-olds were prepared for cake. Right. Now. CAKE.
That is when I realized that there were no matches. In any event, there is always one item to be completely forgotten. I even had a list (so organized!) with “matches” under the category of “supplies.” It was right above the last item on the list, which was “this list.”
One of the moms went to her car to see if she had matches (nobody carries them anymore? what are we, a healthy, body-respecting, Earth-loving, smoke-free, matchless society now?). She came back in with her car lighter. (I think. It could have been a spark plug. I don’t know anything about cars.)
Before the spark plug could be put to use, I turned around to four pink candles topped with orange flames on Erma’s cake. A fairy dragonfly must have waved a magic lighter, because nobody took the credit for it.
We sang that notorious, out-of-key birthday song and then it was time for Erma to make a wish and blow out the candles.
After the party, we carried home our leftovers (including four animal cups?? who didn’t get their animal cup craft?? I’m saving them…I know you want to keep them in your child’s Forever Box) and Granny and Papa stayed to play with the kids in the backyard for a better chunk of a 72-degree day.
I pulled Erma aside and posed a question that no person should ever ask a birthday girl. “What did you wish for, when you blew the candles out?” I asked softly into her ear.
She whispered back, “Scooby snacks.”
That’s my girl.
That’s my four-year-old girl.