Do the magic! Do the magic!

Birthdays in the llama house are a BIG deal. When I was a kid, I didn’t have to go to school on my birthday, didn’t have to do any chores, and I could have whatever I wanted for dinner (as an adult I realize that I wasted this opportunity with actual meal requests, I should have picked a box of Swiss Rolls. The dinner of champions, but I digress). I wanted to continue that with my own little llamas. Dada llama always viewed birthdays, “as just another day” (direct quote). With differing views on this highly important subject we did what any healthy relationship does- we compromised, and decided to make birthdays a big deal.

And so started “the birthday magic”. When you go to sleep on the eve of your birthday, you will wake up to a barrage of balloons to herald in your special day. We started this when Boo turned 3. She absolutely loved it. The awe and excitement on her face was a beautiful sight to behold. It was one of those few moments of my parenting career that was Instagram perfect.

The following year was equally amazing for the little llama which makes it an official tradition. How do I know it’s an official tradition? So glad you asked friends. Join me on a journey of how my one Instagram worthy parenting idea came back to bite me in the butt.

Recently Hunka Chunk turned 3. Which is the year that the birthday balloon magic starts. Well, it’s supposed to start. Unfortunately for my little llama, Dadda left for a month with the Army the day before. And I was so worried about making sure we had his present ready, cake made and surviving the initial sadness of missing him by keeping us busy, I forgot the birthday magic. Until 6am on the morning of his birthday. And Party City doesn’t open until 10am. Parenting fail.

Don’t panic, he probably doesn’t even remember the birthday magic. I have a little wiggle room. I’ll just do it tomorrow since we are doing the train ride that day for his birthday present. It will be like two days of birthday magic. That’s better than one, right? We’ll sing to him, give him his presents and have cake. He’ll never know!

Perfect plan right? Except I did not factor in the elephant-like memory of my 4-year-old. Having witnessed the birthday magic twice, apparently she is now a birthday magic expert. The very first thing she asks him when he walks out of his room is about the birthday magic.

Ix-nay on the agic-may kid.

So now I have to find a way to make the birthday magic happen today. I can’t have him thinking that his sister has more amazing birthdays or that the birthday magic forgot about him! *cue massive panic about my parenting fail*

Quick collaboration with my mom and she says she’ll put them down for nap time and I can run out and make the magic happen. So I rush over to Party City, frantic that he is going to wake up again without any magic, and pick out two dozen balloons, they even had some with llamas on them! Now I get outside and have to figure out how to fit two dozen overfilled balloons into my mom-mobile. Every single time I do this I always lose a couple balloons. They either hit something in the car just right and pop or a string gets away from me and it goes to join its brethren in the sky. This time I was determined not to lose a single man, woman or balloon. But I underestimated how hard it is to maneuver 24 balloons, on a windy day, when the sun is beating down, and you’ve got the stress of trying to beat the clock, in this case, the nap time clock.

I’ve got one bunch in each hand. Open up the hatch for the trunk and try to stuff the first bunch in. But you can’t stuff with one hand, they just try to escape and float. So I put the strands for the second bunch under my foot, and bite it for a backup plan and try to wrangle 12 balloons into the back. I have about 10 of them in and just trying to get the last 2 in there when it happens. One of the balloons that is attached to the ribbon I am biting pops. Loud. Right next to my ear, which causes me to panic and I let go of the balloons that I’m supposed to be stuffing. Luckily I had wrapped them around something so they didn’t completely escape but I had to start the stuffing process all over again. I start talking to them like it will help them cooperate more, “Okay ladies we’ve got this, I just need you all to suck it in so we can fit. It’s a short ride home. That’s it, just a little more.” Miraculously the “ladies” and I get them safely tucked in the back and now it’s the “gentlemen’s” turn. Yes, I decided that the second bunch were boys. Don’t ask.

As I’m pushing the boys in the back seat one by one, we lose another one. Again, this one pops right by my head. For no reason other than the sun touched it too hard I guess. Which is exactly why this grouping of balloons is of the male variety. I’ve never seen a female wilt in the sun when it’s game time. We suck it up, suck it in and do what needs to be done (exhibit a- the lady balloons stuffed into the hatch with two kid cars, three camp chairs and miscellaneous kid paraphernalia. None of them popped and they are squished in their like sardines. Who runs the world? Girls! Sorry- I digress again). Now I’m not too happy with this group of balloons. I paid $30 to have two of them pop not ten minutes after I bought them and I need this to be perfect for my little llama dammit! The survivors get pushed into the car none too gently. I did have the foresight to tie them around a handle for later.

And we’re off! I put the air on full blast since these balloons have already demonstrated that they don’t like the sun or the heat and I feel like I’m driving a ticking time-bomb. Waiting for the next one to pop. It’s a sick game of Russian roulette. I’m taking turns nice and slow in case the balloons get car sick and decide to pop. I’m talking to them and reassuring them that we are almost home. And what do I see in my rear view mirror? One brave little balloon floating towards the front of the car. With the cute little llamas on it just mocking me with the possibility of popping in a small space while I’m driving a multi-ton vehicle. Tick. Tick. Tick.

By the grace of God, we don’t have any more casualties and we make it home safely. I finagle all 22 survivors into the house and separate the tangled mess they have become in our harrowing journey. My mom assures me that the kids have been sleeping for awhile so I sneak (slowly and very very carefully) up the stairs to the birthday boy’s room. I silently open the door, already celebrating in my head and proud of myself for my overall successful birthday magic surprise mission. I peak in the room while holding 22 balloons and come face to face with my newly minted 3-year-old, who is wide awake and staring straight at me and my contraband non-magical balloons.