Life is funny. And not in a “haha” kind of way, but in a “who the hell’s idea was this?” kind of way. I mean, who came up with the whole living and dying, joy and pain, sickness and health thing? And were they drunk?
It’s been a roller coaster of a summer for our family. We have witnessed so many of the vagaries of life. From unexplainable illness to actual miracles, from gut-wrenching loss to the beauty of birth, life has tossed us around as if our family was a rag doll.
I spent a week trying to explain “loss” to my youngest. Trying to numb the pain. Trying to balance my own sadness and anger with her innocence and confusion. Trying to deal with the guilt of celebrating her birthday while attending a wake.
Because no matter how brave she is, no matter how hard she tries to put on a happy face, or how many times she says that she understands, if you tell a child you are just too sad to plan her birthday party, it will break her heart, tearing it right down the middle.
So we planned the party. We invited the friends. We talked about menus. We discussed party games. We purchased favors. It seems that life goes on.
Then, I sat down and wrote a letter to the moms who were trusting their precious children into my care. Because I am blessed to count each one of them a friend, some for a short time, some for a long time, and one for a lifetime. These women are the reason I can even consider hosting a birthday party. And I needed them to know that.
“Hey ladies! So the party is back on! It’s a pool party-sleepover so please pack bathing suits and sleeping bags. We’re so looking forward to welcoming your girls to our house!
“I just wanted to tell you moms that this party is going to be a little different than all the others you’ve been to at my house. My yard looks like shite. My house looks like shite. It’s likely that I will look like shite.
“I know that you don’t care. I also know, that you know, that I do care. A lot. And where last year I got up at 5 a.m. so my driveway wasn’t lined with weeds, this year I just don’t have it in me. This year, I have an actual pumpkin patch growing onto my driveway.
“This year, my peach trees, due to neglect and mismanagement, have littered my lawn with so many rotten peaches that my yard smells like a compost heap and our resident rabbit and woodchuck, who may or may not live in my garage, are almost always drunk from eating them.
“This year, there are weeds in my yard as tall as your beautiful little girl. I promise I won’t lose her in them, but I can’t promise I’ll get to pull them before you arrive.
“This year, there will be no farm to table dinner. I won’t be making a gluten-free homemade meal, sourced from my favorite local farmer or my own yard. I’m giving them frozen pizzas. They’re probably loaded with trans fats, factory-farmed dairy and manufactured by a company that poisons babies for profit.
“This year, there will be no custom cupcakes that I baked from scratch with fair-trade certified cocoa and raw honey. I’m throwing together an ice cream cake and it’s not even organic ice cream. I’d bet my left eye there are artificial flavors in it. Oh, and the veggie tray is not packed with carrots from my yard. I bought it at Costco and I didn’t even read the ingredients on the ranch dressing. They might need a cleanse when they get back home.
“Because this year, I’m crying in the shower.
“And when I mow the lawn.
“It turns out that I sweat from my eyes so no one can tell the difference anyway. Because no, I don’t want to talk about it. But you know that. And you love me so much that you don’t even ask. Instead, you show me a funny meme about moms and wine. We laugh and laugh.
“Then you pour me more wine.
“This year, I don’t have it all together. This year I’m treading water. This year, I am a wreck.
“And I am so in love with the fact that you love me anyway —and maybe even more — because of it. That you women, my tribe, my sistafriends, you won’t even acknowledge the weeds. You will kick the dog hair back under the cabinet(s). You will tell me that my little pumpkin is adorable and that when October comes and I have 17 of them blocking my garage door, your family would love one. You will snort and giggle when the woodchuck stumbles across the yard, high on fermented peaches and nearly as drunk as us.
“When we put on any Disney movie ever made for the girls and someone dies and I get a little too weepy and/or go on a hysterical crying jag, you’ll just ignore it. You’ll let me have my moment, like I need to have my moment — by myself, but never alone.
“Then you’ll pour me more wine.
“I’m telling you all of this because you need to know how much I adore you and that I know that for some reason, you came into my life. For some reason, you became a part of my heart. For some reason, you adore me back and when I’m a wreck, you’re the rock: silently supporting me. No woman is more blessed than me.
“This year, I’m going to be OK.
“Because I’ve got one hell of a tribe.”
When life laughs at you, make sure to laugh back. It’s really the only way to make it through. Laughter.
Oh, and ice cream. To be honest, the ice cream cake is delicious, loaded with all sorts of terribleness, but delicious none the less. If you don’t have the energy to make your child a cake, go with the ice cream cake. It takes some forethought because it has to be constructed the day before, but it only takes a couple of minutes and requires no cooking (thank you, God.)
Ice Cream Cake
spring form pan
2 half gallons ice cream (any flavors you like)
1 box/bag cookies (we use GF snickerdoodles or chocolate cookies, but really anything works)
caramel and/or fudge sauce
Put the spring form on a plate or pan (just to keep any leaks from escaping).
Grind entire package of cookies into crumbs, using the pulse option on your food processor. Put aside.
Leave the ice cream on the counter until it is very soft. When it becomes spreadable, empty one container into spring form pan. Smooth it out.
Pour and smooth cookies crumbs evenly over ice cream.
Use caramel and/or fudge sauce over cookies, as much or little as you like.
Put the second half gallon on top and smooth out.
Cover with parchment or wax paper and foil, then put into the freezer for at least 24 hours.
Before serving, use a knife to loosen ice cream from the spring form then remove the outer edge of the pan. Pour more syrup on top, making whatever pattern you’d like, and serve immediately.
If you want to work a little harder, before pouring the syrup, cover with whipped cream. But really, the cake is amazing without it. Either way, partygoers will think you are a culinary genius when really, you just didn’t want to turn on the stove.
I mean, it’s August, for God’s sake.
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Laurie Nigro, is the mother of two biological children and one husband. She also takes care of a menagerie of animals that leave throw-up around for her to step in in the middle of the night. Laurie’s passionate about frugal, natural living, which is a nice way of saying she’s a kombucha-brewing, incense-burning, foodie freak who tries really hard not to spend money on crap made by child laborers. You can hear her rant about her muse (aka husband) and other things that have no bearing on your life, in this space each Sunday.
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