The Curious Case of the Procreating Invitations
My son, 12, invited six friends to attend his birthday party. I made the invitations, hand-wrote Who, What, When, Where, Why, Pizza and Cake! I added careful script, respondez, s'il vous plait, our house number, and an assortment of goofy monkey stickers. 12 stuffed the invites in his backpack last week and hauled them to school.
Yesterday morning I cornered 12. I had to look up to see his eyes.
"Well, how many kids are showing up? Do you know? Did you give out the invitations? No one called to RSVP!"
12 shrugged his shoulders. He ran one hand through his thick hair.
"Mom, don't worry. I've got it covered."
He ran his hand through his hair again, and I caught a flash of something vague - amusement? chagrin? confusion?
"Mom, c'mon! We gotta pick up Robert!"
I remembered 12's enigmatic expression as 12, his younger brother 9, and 12's two best friends rocked Silva Bowl's center lane, rolling cool spare after strike. 12 used his birthday gift - a custom ball I ordered during after Holiday sale craziness, complete with his name and the Star Trek logo. I let the other boys borrow my own ball, a deep purple number sprinkled with inlaid sparkles, two comets chasing the finger holes. I sat a careful distance from them, didn't want to be the Old Maid, raise eyebrows when the humor inevitably turned blue. The boys seemed to use some kind of special ritual involving the Chicken Dance and a complicated series of hand motions each time one stepped up to the line. The bowling alley's track lighting ricocheted off the chrome ball return, off the gyrating boys, giving their actions the look of a bad junior high dance team on Mars.
What the hell did he mean, 'I've got it covered?' Is anyone gonna show up to the party tonight?
I thought about the vat of pizza dough slowly rising in the fridge, the mounds of cheese I shredded, the chocolate cake I frosted the night before, the lemon cake I drizzled with a tangy glaze before the clock struck five, while I stood on the cool kitchen tiles, feet bare, too tired to rummage for my slippers.
Well, we'll just have leftovers.
We arrived back home an hour before the party started. 12 and his friends tumbled downstairs to play air hockey, and 9 donned an apron ("Tender, Succulent, Aged to Perfection - and the BBQ ain't bad either!). I pulled out my pizza pans and 9 went to work. He added a dollop of olive oil to each pan, then spread it in a thin layer with his bare hands. I washed the morning dishes as he worked. He sprinkled cornmeal over the oil, then set the pans aside. The apron fell below his knees. Cornmeal bits flew into his hair as he wiped his hands together.
Ring!
The doorbell! I yelled for 12 to come upstairs, greet his minions. I expected the early bird to be the bad luck boy with the perpetual drippy nose that lives around the corner. But the cold air blew in another boy, then a girl, then a boy, a boy, a boy, a girl. All six at once!
Wow. Well that's that! Everyone's here!
The swarm didn't notice me, dove in regiment to the basement, discarding scarves, hats, mittens and boots in the process. The dog and the pot-bellied pig ran, too, but aimed for my bedroom, away from the fray. I tossed in a couple of rawhide bones and locked the door. 9 rolled his eyes.
"Teenagers," he muttered. He grabbed a hunk of dough and began to pull it, flatten it, form it into a perfect flat circle.
Ring!
12 ran to the door before I could reach. He flung it wide, let the four degrees mingle with our sixty-five, and another flood of classmates poured into the livingroom. Seven, eight, nine, ten.... I lost count, just knew that I better assist 9 with those pizzas!
All told we had 19 guests, and 9 and I built up some arm muscle manipulating the dough. Somewhere around the hour mark, half-way through the festivities, a crash followed by screams echoed up the stairs!
"Ms. Jaworski! Ms. Jaworski! 12 fell through the window!"
I flew downstairs, hands covered in suds, to see a heap of teenagers giggling on the floor, my son with bloody arm above head, and the small ground-level window punched out into the snow. I still don't know what happened. They didn't offer, and I didn't ask. I stuck bits of bandage and cotton along 12's right arm, right fingers, and cleaned up the mess best I could. I cut a piece of cardboard to fit the window and fastened it with duct tape. 12 looked sheepish and I noticed how the party girls shook back their hair and looked at him with new respect.
It's morning, the boys trodded off to school, I still have a hell of a mess to clean, and 12 is going to have a hell of a time holding pen against paper. The moments before he escaped I grabbed him by the good arm and pointed to his shirt.
"Hey! That's the same shirt you wore yesterday. It's dirty, 12, plus look at all the blood on it! Go back to your room and put on something fresh!"
"Mom! I don't have time, gotta run, bye!"
He grabbed his down jacket and ran to chase his brother.
I've got your number, kid. I know you want to impress whoever didn't show up last night with wild party stories.
Oh, my! Have you got your hands full with that one! I'm watching this closely you know, since my 11 seems so much like your twelve, only eight months behind.
Posted by: Terri | January 16, 2007 at 10:25 AM
Suddenly everything around me seems so calm and under control. By comparison. But Lydia's birthday is coming up in four weeks--the mayhem starts in about two.
Posted by: Rick | January 16, 2007 at 10:37 AM
will you tell us her name when you find out? ..enquiring minds...
Posted by: matt | January 16, 2007 at 12:07 PM
lol...
lol...
aaaaaaaaaaargghhhhh lol... !!!!
ah well.. any party you can walk away from is a good one !!
and you're still sane ?? well done !!.still look on the bright side.. ( stil has a few years to go before the effective lobotomy that is teenagerhood !! lol.
My advice...go bowling !!
Posted by: Shrexy | January 16, 2007 at 12:42 PM
Aieeeeeeeeeee! Birdie, my beloved husband has many fond memories of similar parties that took place in the basement of his childhood home. I believe more than one of them involved playing "Spin the Bottle".
Glad the newly-minted Mr. 12 survived -- and you too! Sounds like you have an absolutely fabulous kitchen helper in young Mr. 9 :-)
Please keep us posted on the nuances of your communications with 12 -- they're sure to be entertaining!
Posted by: Carroll | January 16, 2007 at 12:59 PM
I love that you didn't ask, and they didn't tell. That's such a good age to be allowed to keep secrets, if they're reasonably harmless. You're brave. It sounds like it was one of the great parties of all time.
Posted by: Wandering Willow | January 16, 2007 at 01:07 PM
No wonder 12 thinks you are such a cool mother :)
Posted by: Louise | January 16, 2007 at 02:30 PM
Oy! You make me scared for the pre-teen years!! I'm impressed at your 'don't ask' policy - don't know if I could be so cool!
Posted by: DaniGirl | January 16, 2007 at 05:12 PM
19?
19??????
Woman, you are a saint!
Posted by: Mike | January 16, 2007 at 05:17 PM
Oh Terri, you better watch him like a hawk! Mr 12 is growing his own mythology... today in school the word spread like wildfire. I had three teachers ask me what the heck happened last night. He's definitely Big Man on Campus this week.
Rick, just wait! If not this birthday, then next! It's inevitable, the window smashing meme must take place...
matt, I shall never ask!
Shrexy, ha! Well, it is kinda funny today! But not THAT funny!!!! ha ha ha ha!
Carroll, oy, spin the bottle, I was afraid it was something like that!! But I prefer to think they were doing something harmless, like reaching for Aristotle on the top book shelf.
Bonnie, the part is legendary! Those kids will be talking about it all year. All ready the rest of the students who didn't attend are asking to come to his 13th.
Louise, I'm only cool 'cause I'm too terrified to speak!!!
Mike, in this town there ain't nothing for teenagers to do, better they hang out here I guess. I just wish they stopped by today to help clean up!!!
Posted by: Birdie | January 16, 2007 at 05:55 PM
DaniGirl, I missed you in there! One thing I learned with my older kids (now in college) is that everything excepting dire illness and death, is just the small stuff. At least I hope it is!!!!
Posted by: Birdie | January 16, 2007 at 05:57 PM
Here's the award that 12 should be giving you:
http://offtype.net/image_13276782631.gif.html
Posted by: Wandering Willow | January 16, 2007 at 06:28 PM
and people questioned my sanity for allowing my 11 as she was then to have a few friends stay for a sleepover on her prevoius birthday...and yo know what...they were dead right !!
As to mr12 and what happened?? well.... Mum's the word !!! lol
Posted by: Shrexy | January 16, 2007 at 07:31 PM
what no dancing girls or rodent acts????? yer slipping Bird.
Posted by: Lloyd | January 16, 2007 at 10:26 PM
Bonnie, ha ha ha! I love it!!!!
Shrexy, we want details!!! What did your girl do??
Lloyd, I know. I'm getting old!!!!
Posted by: Birdie | January 17, 2007 at 06:54 AM
suffice to say girls can be more horrid and bombastic than boyz !!!!
Posted by: Shrexy | January 17, 2007 at 08:11 PM