There is such a thing as too much pink

Hope you all had a lovely long weekend filled with little or no labor. That was not the kind of weekend I had though. I labored a lot. I’m not complaining. It was a labor of love.

On Saturday I finally got to unleash all the girlie things I had been secretly harboring when we threw a baby shower for my baby sister who is having . . . a baby . . . girl (does a twenty-something still qualify as a baby sister? I’d like to think so). But wait! There’s more.

Read this next line carefully folks: I left the Husband alone with the boys all weekend long. I’m sorry. I know this might sound like one of those tall tales, seeing as how I haven’t been away from my two children by myself since ever. I’ll repeat: I left the Husband alone with the boys all weekend long.

If I didn’t just live this experience I might not believe it myself but it’s true. I was in a completely different state of the United. For almost two full days I was without all three of my boys. I went to bed when I wanted and woke up when I wanted and I even went to the bathroom when I wanted. It was pure craziness I’ll tell you what.

Of course this brief independence of mine meant that for almost two full days the Husband had to handle child rearing by himself, as well as sleep in a large lonely bed void of this redhead. His nights were restless I’m sure. Poor Husband. But remember this? That was twice as long and during our anniversary. Just sayin’.

Anyway, with no boys around to play trucks and trains and other stereotypical male things, I just let the general unmanliness of the weekend soak into my being. There was nary a mention of tools or engines or Thomas the entire time.

Instead there were arguments over which two romantic comedies we should watch back to back, out of the ten DVDs in our possession. Surely watching all ten would have been some sort of sin.

There was giggling (and belching), laughing (and yelling), dancing (and snoring).

There was chocolate, and sugar, and chocolate, and sprinkles.

And of course my poof balls. They’re pink. Imagine that!
And the cupcakes! Oh the cupcakes! Move over Martha. No seriously. Move over.
Craftiness just seemed to ooze out of the party planners like butta’. It was wonderful. It was all about us girls. It was a nice change. It was a lot of pink. It was a little exhausting. It was enough to curb my baby girl appetite.

I was glad to get back to my boys and kiss their dirty hairy faces. Okay, only one of them was hairy. I'm not sayin' whose.


Kristina P. said...

Love it. I love throwing parties. And poof balls are now mandatory.

The redhead said...

I know right. Poof balls are the best thing since sliced bread . . . and dare I even say the Snuggie!

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