The Husband got this card from a friend of his. I think I'm framing it.
Never plan a surprise party without making sure you’ve taken your Adderall first. Or do it, and make sure you tweet, Facebook, and instagram the hell out of that bitch because it’s all blog post fodder and you know you won’t remember any of it otherwise.
The Husband turned 40 last week and I dropped the ball big time on party planning. He picked me up from the airport from my Blogher13 trip the day before his birthday and I didn’t realize I was probably going to have to make up for the lack of Big Birthday Gifty-ness with a blowjob or two until long after he fell asleep that night. The I Heart Chicago sweatshirt I got him wasn’t getting me off the hook — not for a milestone birthday. So I figured I’d redeem myself by using my Ninja with ADHD Skills to plan a surprise birthday party for him, instead.
I was going to Make This Happen and it was Going to be Epic. And by Epic, I mean a full menu that eventually got scaled back to pizza, two-liters of pop, bags of chips, and cupcakes from a box. A far cry from our normal paleo plan, but when shit starts to hit the fan, the Kale in Coconut Oil Sauteed with Asapragus is the easiest thing to cut from the list in the name of sanity and reason.
The Husband’s parents arrived a few days ago for a 10-day visit and I figured I’d be sneaky and not let them in on the Big Secret until the last minute. There was bound to be conversation bounced around about the party when he wasn’t around and Eliana was, I figured, and Eliana is six and her idea of not letting the cat out of the bag is by telling the cat that he’s Totally Just Imagining There’s a Bag to Begin With. Not very subtle, I’m afraid, which is why she is officially grounded from ever playing poker.
So I continued with my Super Secret Plans with a trusted friend who’s husband was going to serve as The Distractor on the party day. The plan was simple:
- Choose the party date and time
- Invite the guests
- Get The Husband out of the house
- Alert The Inlaws after the coast is clear
- Revel in the glory of success
That was the plan. Here’s what actually happened.
Choose Party Date and Time
I scheduled the party for Thursday night and got the word out. Then I learned that I was supposed to have had it Friday because my friend’s husband was working until 6 p.m. on Thursday. I figured this out on Wednesday.
Invite the Guests
That happened easy enough. Except now I had to find a new Distraction. Let’s ignore the fact that I forgot to invite one family altogether. It’s okay. They don’t know what the internet is.
Get The Husband Out of the House
My new Distraction became my Father in Law. But instead of getting The Husband out of the house, he got him into the garage to work on the riding mower with the blown engine. Things kinda went to hell in a hand basket pretty fast from here.
Alert the Inlaws When the Coast is Clear
Do I really have to spell this one out? I did manage to slip The Mother-in-law a handwritten note spilling the beans while she watched TV with my kid, but the coast was fucking foggy and clear was a forgotten dream. I thought All Was Saved when the grease-covered guys walked into the kitchen to grab something to eat before heading out to look for new motors, but that was a short-lived little ray of sunshine, my friends.
My phone told me I had a text message as The Husband was reaching for his keys. It was one of his friends telling me he was parking his car at the neighbor’s place and heading over. This was obviously a major hiccup. He was three hours early and lives over an hour away, so I said fuck it and told The Husband the text was from the neighbor telling us she had homemade jam for him to pick up, thinking The Husband could laugh at the surprise being blown but still look like a genius for my mad planning skills.
Except The Husband “forgot” and blew past the neighbors place, leaving his friend wondering what the hell was happening. That’s when I threw up the white flag of defeat, called The Husband, and told him to get his ass back to the neighbors because the jam was actually his friend and that he had better fucking pretend to be surprised when he got back here to see the party he wasn’t supposed to know about in full swing because THAT’S WHAT GOOD HUSBANDS DO.
Revel in the Glory of Success
Funny, right? Because after The Husband and The Father-in-Law picked up the early party guest and headed back out to go to Manly Things, The Mother-in-law went outside to get the party snacks and drinks we had bought and hidden in the back of my truck. Which The Husband had taken without telling me.
I did what anyone would do in that situation: I texted his friend to tell him The Husband needed to come home NOW because he had hijacked my shit.
But wait…it gets better.
They guys figured they’d give up on trying to leave the premises again. I called for pizza, which we never get for us because of our gluten free and paleo diet, and sent The Husband and crew off to pick it up about 30 minutes before the guests were to arrive. The Husband texted me just as cars started making their way up our driveway to ask me why the pizza place didn’t have my order.
Because I forgot to take my Adderall today and called the store 3 hours away from our house.
This is when I told the laughing Mother-in-law that there’s a reason I write non-fiction.
The Husband placed an order for four pizzas and two order of bread-sticks totaling $65 because apparently pizza is quite the commodity up here in northern Maine. He triumphantly returned with the World’s Most Expensive cardboard boxes Not Lined in Gold and a merry time was had by all.
That’s when I sat back, smug and relaxed, mentally transcribing the day’s events for the blog post that just wrote itself.