Birthday Party Crasher

March 10, 2011 at 7:45 pm (GOJ, Uncategorized)

I took the kids (minus sicko Auden) to a birthday party at one of those indoor bouncy house funland/emporium/warehouses last weekend.

Greta started slow, but eventually ran wild with the best of them.

They had two birthday parties going.  Eventually the employees started rounding up the other party to take the Official Birthday Party Picture.  I noticed them lining up all the kids against a wall.  Parents and other adults were all snapping. 

And then I noticed: my 3 year old child lined up, smiling obediently.  With nobody she knew.  In some other random kid’s birthday picture.  For some reason, this struck me as so hysterical, I couldn’t stop laughing long enough to go intervene.  I kept picturing them looking at the photos later and asking each other, “Who is that kid?”  And then I’d start hysterically laughing again with tears running down my face.

The birthday kid was maybe turning 4.  Why didn’t his parents notice there was a stranger in the photo?  I don’t know, but I’m using that as my excuse for not immediately running over and grabbing her.  Judge me now.  Plus, she’s a cute kid; she only added to the loveliness of the birthday party documentation, right?  Who wouldn’t want this in their photo?
Outside the gate
Greta’s cheesiest smile on the first day of preschool

About halfway through, I realized there was no way I could go get her now, because why hadn’t I noticed where my child was earlier?  And why was I crying?  So I was stuck standing about 30 feet away, waiting for her to be done with her photo shoot.  It seemed to take forever, with other kids sticking fingers up their noses and running out of the shot.  Then they called PIZZA, and Greta tried to run off towards their party room.

At that point, I quickly rescued Greta.  This may be an instance of you had to be there, or just bad writing, because re-reading this is doesn’t seem terribly funny.  But I promise you, it was.

Then we get home and relay the story to Dad.  He pulled out his high school yearbook.  I have a vague recollection, on high school picture day, they’d periodically call over the intercom, “It’s time for the Spanish Club picture.  All Spanish Club members, please come to the Student Center.”  Or Bowling Club, or Archery Club, whatever.  Mark figured out by his senior year this was an excuse for anybody to get up and leave class.  Rather than just ditch class, though, he actually went and stood in the picture.  He’s in the annual in clubs he had absolutely no association with no less than six times. 

I guess it’s an inherited trait?


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