The Birthday Party

Yesterday was quite a day. Teddy and I picked up his (red velvet--which it seems that bakeries don't like to make either, by the way--I had to call all over the place, and the one place that would make it charged an extra $6 for red velvet) cake at 10:00. The girl behind the counter brought us an ENORMOUS box with our last name written on it, and I thought I had gone mad and ordered the wrong size. She opened the box to display a beautiful cake that read, "Happy 21st Birthday Mommy, Love TJ." Teddy looked at me in horror, but I laughed. The girl looked at us, closed the lid, and found another box with our last name on it.

We got home in time to stow the cake in the fridge (whipped cream icing) and wait for the friends to arrive--right on time. Ted doesn't have what seems to now be looked on as a "regular" birthday party, with twenty of his closest friends. Since his sixth birthday he's been choosing two friends to spend the day with us, and we kind of do whatever he chooses, and then have cake with the friends and the relatives who live nearby. Then the friends can sleep over or not, depending on whether they can/want to.

Teddy loves this, and feels sufficiently special. His dad and I can afford it, and we still get the cake and family part of the day worked in. Plus, the stack of presents is much more reasonable.

This year Ted's dad and I turned him and his two friends loose in Dave & Buster's. Do you all know D&B? It's like Chuck E. Cheese's for big people. I sat in a booth and had what seemed oddly like a date with my gay ex-husband for two hours, while Teddy and his friends ran around like old ladies in Vegas, only playing games that awarded them prize tickets. Whatever. They pooled their winnings, and some 3000+ tickets later, we were on our way home with bags of junk (or tresure, depending on who you are).

Cake and presents with family. Lovely. Easy. No problems. One of the friends had to go home, because of relatives visiting from out of town, so that left me with Teddy and his best friend, who sleeps over all the time. They played for a while, and I could have cleaned up and spent the evening happily reading my book, but NO. I thought it would be fun to take them to see King Kong. (Insert foreboding music here.)

Teddy's friend had been coughing and sounding vaguely froggy all day, but seemed happy and fine so I didn't think anything of it. We went to dinner at the restaurant in the theater, and then went to the movie. Ted usually sits in the middle when we take a friend to the movies, but this time the friend did--thank God. His cough started to get worse as we sat there, and I kept asking him if he was okay, and making him sip his drink. He kept telling me he was fine. And then he started to wheeze. I said, "Can you BREATHE?" He said, "A little bit."

Whoop! Whoop! Whoop! Sirens went off in my head. I said, "We need to go," and lead Ted and the poor little friend out of the movie (with only about 30 minutes left to go, by the way). We got to the lobby and the friend was gray and crying, clutching at at his throat, saying, "I can't breathe."

You really don't ever want to hear anyone say those words. It's especially hard when it's a kid who's in your care but not your own. I know a lot about my own kid and how he acts/looks/feels when he's sick. I can read him. I know when to take him to ignore him, baby him, or take him to the ER. But this kid . . . this kid wasn't mine, and I'd never seen him so much as shed a tear. And now he was telling me he couldn't breathe.

I considered calling an ambulance, but calculated that it would probably be quicker to drive him to Children's Hospital myself. I called his parents, and said, "J is sick. He's having trouble breathing and is getting really scared. Meet me at Children's." Then I lead a freaked out Teddy and a panicking J to the car. The poor little guy was wheezing and trembling, and I did my best to keep him calm.

We got to the ER and I answered as many questions as I could, letting everyone know that this wasn't my kid, and that his parents were on their way . . . and then I sat with one arm around J and the other around Teddy, until a nurse called us into a room and took over. It seems that J has the flu, complete with the broken-glass sore throat that I had a few weeks ago. The sore throat and congestion (and, I suspect, feeling so sick so quickly, without his parents) conspired to make breathing difficult. His parents showed up, in tears, falling all over him and then me. I apologized for having to scare them, and then thanked me profusely for doing the right thing.

And then I brought Teddy home, where we ate Fritos, discussed as much of the movie as we'd seen, watched The Fresh Prince, and went to bed.

Good Lord.

Teddy's still sleeping. I've been up for a while, but plan to take a nap this afternoon.

Oh, and the movie? WOW. It's a good old-fashioned great time at the movies. It's so much fun that the boys didn't even mind the love-story parts. (No sex, just kissing, but gross to the boys nonetheless.) People (including me) were throwing up their hands and gasping and clapping . . . it was so much fun that we're going to have to go back to see those last 30 minutes, because Teddy doesn't know what happens. I do, of course, but I don't want to miss my chance to sit in a theater and cry. :-)