Party Like You're 99
February 08, 2011
Yes, more death and cancer talk. THAT'S THE TICKET. LET THE GOOD TIMES BLOG.
I didn't even get to actually attend Jason's grandmother's memorial service on Sunday -- after being led to believe by his parents that the whole thing was just a casual reception/family get-together and that we should absolutely bring Noah and Ezra, we arrived at the nursing home's auditorium to...a quiet, somber church service. With hymns and prayers and a sermon and everything. We were the only ones who brought children.
Oh, and this was already taking place during Ezra's nap time, too. So he was in reeeeeally great shape, and I'd promised them cookies and chocolate milk, but the food hadn't been delivered yet, and SERIOUSLY, IT WAS SO QUIET AND REVERENT AND CHURCH-Y. And then we showed up with a pack of wild Unitarian hyenas, or something.
So. We'll...be in the back row, I guess.
But even in the back row, the boys' cries of DO YOU HAVE CANDY IN YOUR BAG, MOMMY? CANDY? CAN I HAVE CANDY? were obviously disruptive, and suddenly the candy (that I did indeed have in my bag) became the noisiest candy to ever be unwrapped, basically negating any "put this in your talkhole and BE QUIET" benefits as I comically struggled to q-u-i-e-t-l-y deal with extremely stubborn cellophane...
Yeah. We moved out to a hallway first, and then eventually settled in an empty meeting room down the hall, where I was finally confident that I could pacify my children with YouTube videos on my phone without disturbing anyone in the silent, echo-y hallway and auditorium.
So I don't know how the service went. Jason said it was nice. The doors opened for the reception part and the boys both critically regarded a fruit-and-cheese place before spotting the cookies and brownies available at the other end of the buffet.
Ezra found some cookies topped with maraschino cherries. He carefully took each and every one, chewed off the cherry, and then returned the rest of the cookie to the platter.
Noah refused to give up custody of my phone and mostly ignored the extended family members we'd specifically dragged him three hours away from home to see, as I awkwardly tried to explain to random people that he didn't USUALLY get to play with video-game gadgets like that but desperate times and extenuating circumstances and did I just say something about feeling great this pregnancy? Actually, I'm exhausted, we've spent more nights away from home this month than in an entire year, we have to get BACK in the car in a couple more hours and mostly I just don't feel like dealing with iPhone-related fallout right now, so JUDGE AWAY. Imma gonna go eat a brownie.
"THE ZOMBIES ATE MY BRAINS!" Noah shrieked at one point, so loudly that every single person in attendance turned away from the coffee station to stare at him in surprise.
This delighted Noah very much, and he continued for his new audience. "THE ZOMBIES GOT TO MY HOUSE! I'M DEAD! AUUUGH! OH NO! CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP!" He collapsed to the floor in a fit of self-satisfied giggles.
Then Ezra, of course, chose this exact moment to barf up about seven or eight half-digested maraschino cherries all over his dress clothes.
Jason and I cleaned up the Pepto-tinted puke the best we could with a stack of cocktail napkins from the buffet table, since I'd already gone through our stash of wipes after cleaning up an earlier mess involving the blasted cellophane candy of humiliation.
There was a photo montage running over a projector with pictures of Grandma when she was younger, and framed collages and albums of her, her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. We all talked about the photos, and Grandma, but mostly...people wanted to talk about the boys, and my pregnancy and due date and do you know what you're having? Oh my goodness, another boy, how funny, but how cute they'll all be, oh my goodness again.
When we spotted Ezra lying under a row of chairs, sucking his thumb, we decided to leave.
"That was a great birthday party," Noah commented in the car. "I hope Great-Grandma liked it."
Jason and I froze. "Great-Grandma wasn't there, buddy," I stammered. "Remember? She died. We talked about that?"
"I know," Noah said cheerfully. "But it's okay. We can still have fun at her birthday party. She doesn't mind."
Today I asked Noah to pick out a song from the More Birthdays site to go with this story. He liked this one. And he hopes you have fun at your next birthday party. Or at pirate camp. I don't think that's actually a thing, but he seems awfully excited about it.