Over-socializing

You're still here?!

George turns three next month, and I'm putting together a small birthday bash for him. After our last few parties, I'm beginning to understand the lure for paying to have the party at a gymnastics studio, or Chuck E Cheese. First of all, there is no need to deep clean the house, although I could use this encouragement. Secondly, and most importantly, the "ending time" on the invitation can't be ignored and the business will take care of it, doing all the kicking out.

We usually have a barbecue for birthday parties, but there is always a last family standing, that won't go home. The party will be cleaned up, the kids will be walking around crying, needing to go to bed, and I'll be yawing continuously, complaining about my busy day tomorrow, but they carry on, grabbing another drink, oblivious to the hints. 

After the last barbecue, it took my husband putting on his pajamas, then nodding off on the couch, to get the hanger-ons to pack up their diaper bag and lead their over-tired kids from the toy room to their car.

It's just one hectic night, so I guess its not that big of a deal, especially since our little world is calm most every other night. I don't have social anxiety, but over-socializing anxiety. Listening to someone tell me a story they told me an hour before, or, even worse, listening to myself tell the same story I just told someone else, is mind numbing. 

After doing some calling around, most birthday venues are already booked, so we'll have to do it at home. I'm think a brunch party is a great solution, and not because its the perfect excuse to eat both a chocolate croissant and an almond croissant. Sure an early start time is a bit of an asshole move, but the late nighters won't make it in time, and I'll get to drink coffee which will alleviate bouts of social tiring. 

I picked out a rocket ship tent for George's birthday present. At one o'clock, when the ending time hits, no matter how many people are still hanging around, I'll be heading to the moon with George and Kiki. We can pull a banner behind us that says, "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!" In reality, I'll enlist my husband, who can do his the-party-is-over pantomime; putting on his jammies, and taking a nap on the couch. It's brilliant.

Im not here.