Treehouse Party

All last week we were psyching ourselves up for Silas's treehouse-building party, one of those things that seemed like a good idea back in April when we first thought of it but as it approached started to seem more and more like a calamitous malady visited upon us by Fate. Friday night I sent out a wail: "Have 16 8-year old boys coming tomorrow for a treehouse party. Somebody hold me."

After all that, though, it was fine. Here's the treehouse just before the party started:

























and here's the treehouse after. See if you can find the six tiny differences. Key at the bottom. The boys with machine guns don't count.

So, the secret to a successful treehouse-building party: build the treehouse before the party. That way the 16 boys can run around like demons shooting each other with water guns and water balloons, and no one gets in the way of actual work.

It was a success, though. No one died, got mouthy, or had to go to the hospital. One boy lost a tooth, but he claimed it was loose before the party. There was one (1) pornography incident, when Silas showed the party the naughty page from Peter Spiers' People. I'm not sure exactly which page it was, but apparently it involved a woman wearing no shirt. (Greaaaat).

So, we survived. I always dread parties, since I failed Party Planning 101, or forgot to take it, I'm not sure which, but then when they happen, it usually goes fine. And this one went fine--also, I'm going to brag a little here, but it DID make me feel like we were parents of the year. Not so much for the treehouse, which is totally fantastic and I can say this because I had absolutely nothing to do with its design or construction except for holding pieces of wood while Mike ran the power saw, or even for the party, per se. But just: Si seemed deliriously happy, to be surrounded by all of his new friends, shooting them wantonly with sprays of water. When I compare how sad and shy and withdrawn he was last summer after we moved here--I mean, it feels like we're doing something right. For once.

Just so I don't get too proud of myself, though, I have to admit that I maybe rubbed the whole party and treehouse in a few too many times. As in, "NO, I can't make you a dessert right now! Can't you see how busy dad and I are MAKING YOUR TREEHOUSE and GETTING READY FOR YOUR PARTY!?" Or, "NO, I can't help you clean the living room! I'm getting ready for your PARTY!"

* There aren't six differences, just one. Mike nailed a panel of wood on the bottom before totally giving up. The one kid who was here first got to help a little, though.