My oldest just turned seven, and for this grand occasion I threw her the Fairy Godmother of all parties. She along with nine other high pitched screaming little girly girls were transformed into princesses right in my own house. Brave, you think me? Smart, says I...enlisting the help of four other Fairy Godmothers (complete with evening dresses and dollar store fairy wings).
Station One: Tiara & Wand Making. This station, situated at my dining room table was the largest of stations, and of course - given to Fairy Godmother Granny (my mother). Who better than to take on five ecstatic little sovereigns than a retired elementary school teacher?
Station Two: Face Painting, Fingernail Polish and Dresses. This station was taken on by yours truly and Fairy Godmother Duffy. Again: I snagged me an artist. Brilliant.
Station Three: Picture Frame Coloring. Manned by Fairy Aunt Godmother Courtney. There were markers. There was a princess movie on TV. Aunt work, 'nuf said.
Station Four: The Photo Shoot. Fairy Godmother Kate also has a minor in kid herding and cropping out the last minute, "Hey, you can't take the picture without me in it!". Again, having a photographer as a close friend has its perks. Genius!
There were pizzas, juice boxes and cake pops...because what else do princesses eat? Over the course of three hours - we morphed, endured polish fumes in a small room, repeated "Couches are for sitting, not jumping", peeled the backs of jewels, and then sat back and watched it unfold.
I've discovered many a thing that day...I determined who's going to grow up to be the head cheerleader (my heart goes out to her mother...), I've witnessed a religious Grandmother tell children, who repeat everything to say "WHISKEY" to the camera (never mind that I still smelled like the fortification I imbibed the previous evening). I was informed that someone had lost seven teeth while someone else still had all theirs. I ascertained even petite little girls can stomp on hardwoods and shout like grown men. And mainly, I detected that Princesses Burp.
I'm not sure which majestic monarch belted one out first. But one certainly did! Maybe it eeked out? I'm still on the fence, but it was followed by a few screeches of "Gross!", a handful of snickers and one responding burp. Maybe it's their secret language. I'm not positive. Dainty darlings were packing down pizza, smearing sauce on their royal frocks and I wondered: Jesus, did I order enough??? Then, as quickly as it began, they were off to swish their wands and proclaim God-only-knows what in the other room.
And I chucked to myself thinking: even princesses burp. Who knew?
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