Sorry for the late post, but I’m still recovering from a long weekend.
My six-year-old decided that we had to host a birthday party for her daddy this year. Not just any party, mind you, but a surprise party. I would have run out of steam for all the planning before we got started, but it was the desire of her heart to surprise him.
So we schemed, sent invitations though evites.com and then gulped as all the RSVPs flooded back. My husband is a loved man.
Then there was the planning. How many adults? How many kids? Where would we put everyone? What would be on the “agenda”? What kind of food to serve? And the kicker: how to get a very smart man out of the house without him suspecting.
Fortunately, a good friend had better strategies than I did. After Eric left at 4:30, Abigail and I flew around the house. Blew up balloons, hung streamers, threw meatballs and little smokies in crockpots while praying they’d heat incredibly fast, made the sweet tea, prepared vegie and fruit trays, and then waited.
Would the guests arrive before Eric? Would we get to say, “Surprise.” He called before we were ready, so I sent him on a loosely disguised errand to the grocery store. That gave us plenty of time.
It was a blast to watch our friends interact. Some from college days. Others from church. And a couple from the neighborhood. A full house, that thanks to an ice-storm, turned into a modified slumber party. It was a riot! So now my house is quiet again, Eric is back on the road, and the kids and I are relaxing.
The kicker: Abigail didn’t get to scream “surprise!”