Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Hugh is Five
I know Hugh is destined to become famous because I can't stop talking about him. Here is yet another post starring him. But, this time, rightfully so because it was his birthday. I can't believe my little man is five even though he's been talking about it nonstop for 365 days because he is my little sidekick who accompanies me to the store, errands, and all of that and talks to me just like a real, but little, man. In fact, the night before his birthday he said, "Say goodbye to your little boy, because in the morning I'll be five and I won't be your little boy anymore!" After I removed the suffocating knife from my heart, I kissed him all over insisting he'll always be my little boy. But, boy: OUCH.
If you are close to Hugh, you know that his birthday has mythical, magical elements and has been talked about, discussed, and dreamed over for 364 days. He has changed his mind one million times on every little detail from the flavor of the cake to the varieties of candy his lucky guests will receive. Some things have never altered, however, specifically that there will be a "treasure hunt" for candy (complete with hidden clues all over the house) and Cheetoes. I completely blew his mind by having TWO DIFFERENT KINDS of Cheetoes (and please, oh please, don't tell him there are even more varieties. I can't take it.)
Someone asked me what Hugh's party theme was and I said, "The party where all his dreams come true. Theme: Hugh." There was face painting (and I really hope that the acrylic paint superman symbols I applied washed off all those kids. Oh well. I hope they scrub hard. . .), "pin the lego head on the lego guy," "duck, duck, goose," "mother may I," and some unfortunate "theater games" Topher tried for about 2 minutes that failed before they started because they required the kids 1. to look at each other and 2. take turns and 3. wait, so that's how that went, and, of course, the treasure hunt. No one wanted the chicken nuggets and, to Hugh's credit, he told me the kids would only want Sprite and Cheetoes because "kids only like junk food, mom!" So, in the end, Hugh got another wish of his on his birthday: a big, fat "I told you so" to Mom. Done and done.
Other than the one time all these 5 year-old boys were running around the house full of candy and playing with their balloons and Hugh asked nonchalantly, "Where's the pinata?" and I answered slowly and dryly "There IS NO pinata. . ." it went off without a hiccup.
Now, 360 or so more days down to next year. He'll forget about the pinata by then, right? I hate pinatas. Who hits their candy? It seems unnatural.