Continuing Adventures in Motherhood: The Birthday Princess

by Megan Morris, a writer in Chicago, mother of three and my niece

Once Upon A Time, in a land not so far away, there was a kingdom of unhappy birthday princesses. It seemed no matter what their family and servants did on the all important birthday day… the princesses could not be made to smile. I myself, was one such grumpy princess.

I recall my Mother’s tireless efforts and, I must say, unending enthusiasm to produce the elusive birthday smile. It was as though she forgot every year how fruitless her efforts truly were. “What kind of cake do you want sweetie? What does my little Princess want for her big day?” Ten hours later, regardless of what bobble-headed beast she shelled out for, no matter how many hours the Holly Hobbie cake took to create, no matter how many Barbie cone-hatted kids were paraded before me, I threw some kind of fit at the moment of expected joy. My ever-hopeful mother would shake her head, shrug her shoulders and shoot for next year.

Other Tantrumers In Tiara’s emerged as the years passed… My sister Meredith needed a special nap at just the right moment before her annual party or it was all over… and then Molly…well, Molly’s tantrums are the stuff of legend. No one is sure really, where the horns come from on that special day. They just grow there, perfectly placed on either side of our birthday hats. My mom, in her patient way, would laugh and say “it’s just the excitement of the day getting the best of you girls.”

Well, that was all just fine and dandy for her…. But when my OWN Birthday Princesses were born… well, they were going to be happy dammit!

Now, I am not saying I go overboard for my children’s birthdays, exactly… but I did narrowly escape being the first subject of a new reality show called “Birthday Moms and Dads”.

Nope, not kidding.

It’s the same bastards that produce “Tutus and Tiaras” and “Sports Moms and Dads”… They basically follow around a family preparing an overblown kiddy party, cameras rolling and wait for the mother or Birthday Kid to skitzo-out. I dodged the bullet, thanks to the even-headedness of my husband, but they were very interested in Maddy’s 5th Birthday Party Carnival. The producers very nearly kiss-assed their cameras onto the invite list. “Oh that sounds amazing, what a good idea!” Bastards. Ooh, I still get mad thinking about it, almost five years later.

My kids’ birthday bashes usually entail not the regulation 8 party guests, but closer to 100 kids invading my backyard. I’ve hired ponies, petting zoos, magicians, a creepy Peter Pan in tights and the know infamous “Dirty Pooh Bear” - a filthy creature which was basically some hillbilly in a bobble head costume singing “I ain’t seen a purtier birthday gally” to my one year old daughter while 75 grown ups stared on in transfixed horror.

Now, when I look back at the video, I laugh until I cry… Tim’s co-workers all standing in a circle, watching with pasted on grins, glancing at their watches and wringing their hands as I dance around with a terrified infant and this blackened, filthy, cigarette stinking semblance of Winnie the Pooh. Could I have been that oblivious? Yes. Yes, I could.



There were considerably less co-workers at the second year shindig. Maddy screamed and threw a present at my head that year, by the way.

I’ve had a Lilo and Stitch-themed Luau, transformed my house into a Peter Pan tropical jungle, put on the afore mentioned Carnival, complete with clown, magician, bouncy house, pony rides and not one, but three kindergarten classes full of booger-eating guests. Oh yes, let’s not forget the Princess Tea Party for 50 hysterical three year olds. Brilliant, eh?

Well, in my defense, I am after the big prize - The ever-elusive perfectly Happy, Smiling, Content and THANKFUL Birthday Princess. Maddy is nine… but she still tantrums out every year. On her second birthday, she stripped off her party dress and refused to come out of her room. On her fourth, she refused to thank anyone for her gifts and decided she was NOT turning four… she preferred being three apparently. Number seven, well, I still can’t talk about it, but I will tell you she was grounded for a week.

I thought perhaps my son would be easier. But he full on bawls every single year at the exact instant the birthday song breaks out. He cannot stand to be exalted apparently. I have five pictures of him in complete hysterics with a Spiderman suit on (because to date, he only wants Spiderman-themed Parties). I am pushing Sponge Bob hard this year for number six. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

But I digress. (Birthday Boys are another matter entirely.)

Yesterday, was my littlest Birthday Princess’s Big Day. Katy turned three. I bought pink plates, balloons, tiaras and set out to make her smile. I don’t really have high hopes these days. As a seasoned mother of three, I assume a tantrum is coming. I do force a nap sometime during the birthday party day, in the hopes of possibly producing at least a mildly pleasant birthday child… but I am never surprised when the water works start.

(Now, mind you, the actual KIDDY birthday party is this Saturday… yesterday was the the birthday day FAMILY party… a distinction I hesitate to point out, since I may be jinxing myself by the mere act of writing these events down on paper…but here goes…)

I dressed my Katy Princess in a sparkle white tutu and sparkle Cinderella shoes, draped the kitchen in pink bows and balloons and forged ahead with the desperate hope of “happy princess” dangling out in front of me like a dog race rabbit.
We had just returned the night before from a quick trip to Philadelphia for my parent’s 40th Wedding Anniversary Party… so it was a gargantuan effort on my part just to get the house in order, the trip unpacked, laundry done and the decorations up… but dammit, she’s my baby! She’s turning three, there will be a party, so help me!


In the hour before her birthday dinner, before Grandpa or Aunt Ashley arrived…
I walked into the kitchen. There she stood in all her sparkle bedazzled glory, big giant bow on top of her head… she was staring into the open fridge, one hand on handle, one hand on hip, scrutinizing her giant pink cake. The words “Happy Birthday Katy” were staring back at her hopefully.

I sighed and asked bravely, “Are you happy baby?”

What happened next, may have changed my outlook on life, giving me hope anew for birthdays to come. Don’t roll your eyes. I am NOT being dramatic. That’s simply not my style…

She turned her adorable face towards me and nodded. She was smiling, nay GRINNING ear to ear.

Slamming the refrigerator, she skipped towards me singing the word “happy happy happy happy happy,” over and over.

The little darling leaped into my arms and kissed me on the cheek. I blinked and stared at her sweet face in wonder.

I was witnessing the actual Birthday Princess, at the exact moment of the usual regulation tantrum, being, I am going to say it, “Joyful”.

She said the simple but beautiful words “thank you mama, I wuv my cake.” I sank down on the floor with her and hugged her tight, soaking up my simple, yet so needed reward…

“You are welcome, my happy little Birthday Princess, you are so welcome.”

And we all lived Happily Ever After… (Shut up you skeptics…A mom can dream, can’t she?)

We Get no Respect!

The following was posted on Major League Baseball's web site last night:



I know they are drooling over a possible New York-Los Angeles World Series, but c'mon! The Phillies are the World Champs - a little respect, please.

Thank you to Thomas Babcock for seeing this last night and sending it to me. He writes that it was up on the site for sometime.

He also reminds us of another famous wrong headline:



And then with the help of Photoshop takes a swipe at MLB:



Thanks Thomas - Nice work!

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On Loneliness

It was my Father's old leather bound poem book that was the catalyst for this blog. Over the last few months I have posted many of his works, some dating back 80 years.


As I read the poems and writings in his book, I wish so much that he was alive today so that I could ask him questions about his thoughts and feelings.


None of the writings stirred more curiosity in me than the following entry that I transcribe verbatim from the yellowed pages of my father's book.




(The last time I saw Mrs. Campbell was in Washington. She was very weary of life, having carried 76 years of it on here rounded shoulders. Her existence centered upon a lingering hope that someday she might return to her England, land of her birth, her early happiness and later grief. She asked me to write a poem about loneliness, which I did.)

Slowly and softly and silently passing,
Moving the same old way.
Moments are dragging and ceaselessly stacking
And forming another day.
When things are so sad is there wonder I'm glad
To call back days that passed.
In that long, long ago...so far away,
The days that went so fast?

Dusty and gloomy and everything stuffy...
Everything seems to be.
And I remember when people were gentle
And lovely and kind to me.
But it hurts so much when i even touch
Those folded souvenirs,
I want to forget...but if I forget
What is there left...but years.

Time is so awkward and hopelessly clumsy
When such as this must be,
Joy is but bygone, the future is empty
And what is there left for me?
Forbid this despair and let me forebear,
Stifle my anguished cry,
Moments are ages; days are like aeons...
How long, oh Lord, and why?

Robert Mendte.

...oOo...

The best gate of a man is not to be born; the second best is to die early....

Silenus.

Happy Birthday Steven...and Thank You

When I was working at CBS3 I made it a personal mission to make certain that we did not forget the men and women fighting and dieing for this country in Iraq and Afghanistan.

As part of that mission, I interviewed many Mom's and Dad's who lost a son or a daughter to a sniper, IED, an ambush or a fire fight.

Their pain is deep and eternal.

For many it is difficult to go on. Holidays go unrecognized because of the pain. Other dates become monumentally important - the birthday - enlistment day - the day your child died.

One of the women I had the great honor of meeting and befriending is Bobbie McGowan from Newark, Delaware. A school teacher and proud mother of her daughter Michaela. In March of 2005, her only son Steven was taken by an explosive device buried in a dirt road outside of Ramadi, Iraq.

Bobbie's apartment in Newark is now a shrine to Steven. His uniform and boots are encased in an armoire. Pictures of Steven are everywhere.

And then there are the Beanie Babies. Steven handed out so many Beanie Babies to the Iraqi children that he became known as "The Beanie Baby Soldier." To this day, the tiny stuffed animals are distributed in his name in Iraq.

Today is Steven's Birthday.

People who love Bobbie reach out to her on this day. One of those people is Jason Hagan. He served with Steven in Iraq and was there when he died. Jason retrieved the body.

He also made a battlefield promise with Steven that if anything happened to either one of them, the survivor would make certain the other's Mom was being cared for.

For the last four years, Steven has kept that promise. Jason lives in California, but still dotes on Bobbie from afar.

Today Jason sent Bobbie a digital flower. This is the note she wrote:

October 11, 2009

Jason Hagan sent me a beautiful picture of a rose this morning. It looks like a perfect pink rose. I remembered Bette Midler had a song titled “The Rose,” so I looked up the lyrics. Some really touched me again.

It’s the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance.
It’s the dream afraid of waking
that never takes the chance.
It’s the one who won’t be taken,
who cannot seem to give,
and the soul afraid of dyin’
that never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been too long...
just remember in the winter
far beneath the winter snows
lies the seed that with the {Son’s} love
in the spring becomes the rose.

Our road has been lonely and long, but as the change in the lyrics I made reflects, I believe God’s love will end our winter and we will have our spring and our roses when we hold our children once again.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STEVE!

Love, Da Momma

Please remember Steven McGowan on this day and all of the men and women who have given their lives in service to country.

Remember that there are still men and women serving this country and in harm's way overseas.

And remember the Mothers, Fathers, Wives, Husbands and children who have also sacrificed for this country. They have been wounded by war in a way we can't comprehend.

To learn more about Steven McGowan and his legacy - click here.

To donate Beanie Babies in Steven's name - click here.

If you would like to send a message to Bobbie, either leave a comment here or send me an email at LarryMendte@Gmail.Com. I will make certain she gets it.

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