We decided to host a party for Chloe’s fourth birthday as she’s never had a party outside of our shared, family, mini-day-old-cupcake.

And yes, when Hanna had her first birthday we had an open house, carnival and pony rides, loot bags with plane tickets to Hawaii, diamond tiaras, “You get a car! You get a car!” You get the idea. We. Went. Overboard.

The third born however has had to wait, four years exactly to have a party which in a way is the most special of all. We’ve given her the gift of suspense.

Where to begin.

Chloe, um, er, doesn’t have any friends. There, I said it.

Don’t get me wrong, she’s not an unhappy kid, she’s just still in that place in her life where playing tag-for-one with sunglasses taped behind her ears is still perfectly acceptable. She’s just not a real networker when it comes to meeting people and playing with anyone.

Also, she’s quick to loudly state, “She’s not my friend” whenever a similar sized person comes within ten feet of her. She maybe, might swing random punches into the air in the hopes someone walks into her.

I wanted to invite everyone in her class to her party. Really I did. Even though, I couldn’t stop repeating, “but Chloe doesn’t play with anyone and the birthday party facility I’m planning to book charges $750 per kid, $25 more/per kid if you want paper plates for the cake you will buy from a master baker and be charged $100 if you bring it through our front door.”

Let’s not get carried away.

I asked the teacher to give me a list of just the girls in the class, eleven kids which also seemed outrageous to me given that Chloe could only name three (including herself) and that’s with the class picture as a prompt.

Even then I’m pretty sure two of the three (not herself) might have been boys.

Before you tell me I’m being discriminatory by choosing just the girls, I should tell you there are fewer girls than boys which was the one and only factor in my choosing.

The invitations went out two and a half weeks ago and I can not stress this one enough. There is a rather large, all upper case box with the following key letters: R.S.V.P.

I have heard from four people (three girls, one boy–yep, got one wrong, hope you like Pinkalicious in your loot bag).

I think with both a phone number and email options, we are making it VERY simple for parents to anonymously reply “yay or hell no” quickly yet none seem concerned about my non-refundable deposit of $3000 and the slab cake I’ve ordered meant to feed 100.

I actually ran into one of the parents on the school playground the other day and asked, “Is Jezebel coming to Chloe’s party?”

Jezebel’s Mom: No, she says she wants to go to the other one.

Oh, okay.

WHAT OTHER ONE?

Was my kid dissed? Is it the sunglasses and angry single tag playing?
Wouldn’t it have made more sense to say, “Oh sorry I didn’t get back to you” (check) “We have another commitment that day” (check).

Instead I walked away wondering what the meaning of life was, taping my sunglasses to the back of my head and freaking right out.

I have no idea who is going to show up for this thing but I’m determined to make it magical.

Maybe by disappearing.