Anxieties can come true

Last Saturday was Henry's birthday party at Children's Fairyland. It was, to hear the talk in our house, the most anticipated event of the year. The talk went like this:

H: "Is my Fairyland party today?"

Me: "Not today!"

H: "Is it tomorrow?"

Me: "Not tomorrow! Soon! Very soon!"

H: (stamping, shouting) "I want it to be today!"

And this went on EVERY MORNING for the two weeks leading up to it. Toward the end I was threatening to cancel the damn party if the tantrums didn't stop.

I am a terrible parent when my children whine.

So I knew this was a big deal to Henry. It would likely be the highlight of his young life until he starts science camp at Habitot in July. The pressure, for me, was intense. I was on the phone to Fairyland every couple of days. First to follow up on our party application, then to follow up on the invitations, then to increase our head count, then to follow up on the increased head count. Fairyland party planners appeared to be about as dependable as cartoon pixies.

And then I got an Evite reply from a mom that said "Cool! We're going to a party at Cinderella's Shoe at the same time!" And so I was back on the phone to Fairyland. The pixies assured me that Cinderella's Shoe was indeed reserved for Henry, they had the paperwork right there.

You see where this is headed, right? Of course you do. I saw where it was headed, too, but I also have years of psychotherapy under my belt, and was thus able to dismiss my increasing feelings of doom as the product of my dysfunctional upbringing.

Towards the end of the pre-party puppet show, I noticed people I didn't know carrying balloons and presents to Cinderella's Shoe. I raced to the first person in a Children's Fairyland T-shirt I could find. "WE'RE supposed to have Cinderella's Shoe!" I cried, stamping and shouting.

A flurry of activity followed. First the Fairy Party Department confirmed that we did have the shoe. Then they returned and said that the other party had brought their paperwork confirming their ownership of the shoe. Did I have my paperwork? I did not. I had thought that my repeated communications plus close to $300 was sufficient to reserve the shoe. It was not.

By then the puppet show was over. Henry skipped over to me, beaming in the golden crown the puppets had bestowed upon him in honor of his birthday, and said, "Let's go to the shoe!" When I told him we were not going to having the party at the shoe, he began to wail.

And that was when I lost it on the fairies. I don't remember my exact words, just the tears in my eyes and the word "unacceptable" shouted again and again and again. It was both exhilarating and sorely humiliating as I realized the parents of Henry's friends were all watching my very public fury. When I was finished, the Fairyland party staff assured me that I would be receiving a complete refund.

"Thank you," I smiled, sweetly.

We moved the party to the Japanese Tea Garden, which was pretty, but, as Henry pointed out, had no shoe-shaped slide. He remained doubtful until a few minutes later, when Pirate Luna arrived with her box of balloons and face paints. Henry was blissful, making hiring the pirate the best $120 I will ever spend.

For nearly $300, the Fairyland fiasco was an abomination. Once it was free, it was really quite lovely. And in the end, I felt strangely triumphant. In terms of party planning, the worst had happened, and I had survived. Better than survived, I got my money back.