It was a good one. If I was one to nitpick, I’d say that there was not enough candy in the pinata, the music guys flopped (7 and 9 year olds are too old for “Five Little Monkeys”), the coffee was bad, and what was I thinking, skipping the adult beverages?!

Minutes before guests were set to arrive, as I was scurrying around ripping off wrappers and shoving flowers into jars, Annabelle eyed the pile of pink bakery boxes on the table and informed me in no uncertain terms that I should have made the cupcakes myself.

But otherwise, it was good. Sophie was happy. At one point, my friend Mrs. M. looked around and announced she’d never seen so many kids at a birthday party. It’s true. Sophie’s pretty popular. (Plus I invited a crapload of kids.) She was surrounded by friends as she whacked the pinata, got her face painted and ran around (and around and around) the house.

A couple of the girls from her class hugged her when the sparkler on her chocolate cupcake scared her a little as we all sang Happy Birthday.

It was a good day. But not a transcendent one. I didn’t get teary or philosophical. I simply threw a birthday party.

That’s more than okay.

The other day, Ray was talking about how cute and smart Sophie is and he stopped and sighed and announced, “Yeah, these are Sophie’s salad years.”

He’s right. By the time puberty hits — heck, maybe even by the time third grade hits — things will change for our “different” child. You know the drill. But for now, damnit, I’m going to enjoy it.

That said, I think that was the last free-for-all party. None of the real mayhem was captured on film, so you’ll have to take my word for it: There was mayhem. Toward the end, during the opening of an insane amount of presents, Ms. X (pictured below with the birthday girl) caught my eye, nodded wisely and said, “Maybe this should be the last one like this.”

I agree completely. At least, today I do. Remind me in 45 or weeks, or so, when I’m in the thick of party planning.

Here are a few pictures.

“It’s April! Then May!”

I rolled over in the bed and followed the script.

“And what happens in May, Sophie?”

“MY BIRFDAY!!!!!!!!!!!”  

I have created a monster.

(Apologies to Sandra Boynton. I love her “Birthday Monsters” board book.)

I blinked and stretched, trying to wake up.

“Vanilla on the inside and chocolate on the outside!”

OK, so we’ve got the cake plan.

To be fair, this is of my doing, as you know if you’ve read this blog much (um, the name might be a giveaway). True, we’ve already got a theme for Annabelle’s party (and her birthday’s in JULY) and yesterday I did book the music guy for Sophie’s “pretend” slumber party.

But really, even I admit that things are getting out of hand. Sometime in the middle of the night, last night, I swear I woke up to the musical stylings of  Sophie — singing the birthday song.

And Ms. X confirms that the birthday mania has spilled into the classroom. Yesterday Sophie told Anyssa to buy her Littlest Pet Shop characters for her birthday. And, Ms. X added, she’s been telling certain kids they can’t come to her party.

Ooooh. Not cool.

“Tell her the entire class will be invited!” I told Ms. X. Oh yes, she said, she has been. But, she reports, Sophie says she doesn’t want Aiden to come because Shawn and Aiden argue all the time.

We both had to admit that’s sort of sweet. But everyone in the class will be invited. And then some. (This could be a logistical nightmare, I realize. Our house is not that big.)

Hey, you only turn 6 once.

And now for some spring fashions. Speaking of Aiden from Sophie’s class, yesterday we were driving to school and the topic of Aiden’s new haircut came up. The kid showed up this week with a full-on mohawk — head shaved completely except for a dinosaur-esque ridge on top.

“What do you think of Aiden’s mohawk, Sophie?” I asked, trying not to let my own position show.

The answer came back loud and clear.

“I don’t like it.”

Hmmph. Very strong in her opinions. I’m finding that more and more when it’s time to get dressed in the morning. Annabelle will pretty much wear whatever you toss at her (unless it’s a special occasion or the fashion bug bites extra hard) but Sophie wants choices and more and more, she rejects the offerings.

The good news is that we have a near-unlimited supply of clothes, particularly for her since she’s smaller. I’m not sure where some of this stuff originated, like the Old Navy “Queen Bee” tee shirt. It’s absolultely adorable, but no way could I ever have put Annabelle in it. When Sophie pulls the Mean Girl thing, everyone thinks it’s cute; she has an excuse. (Although the way this birthday thing is going, I might have to hide the tee shirt.) Not so much with the other girls, which does make me wonder who handed this shirt down — and did their daughter wear it much?

Then there are shoes. Sophie’s getting pickier there, too. The other day we realized that Annabelle’s old brown Converse fit her. So the girls were shoe twins at school.

We were all delighted and I got a little nostalgic. Years ago, when Sophie first had orthotics and I was fighting the clunky white sneaker look, my dear friend Trish suggested Converse.

“Brilliant!” I yelled, right there in the middle of the Nordstrom shoe department, and we procured a pair in hot pink — only to have Dorcas the Physical Therapist reject them as unsteady.

The brown fit nicely. (Hopefully they’ll fit with the new orthotics that are now ready to be fitted — Dorcas convinced the guy to make the shoe inserts.)

So I’ve created a birthday monster and a fashion monster and, I realized this morning, a book monster.

I was getting Sophie out of the car seat when I noticed blood on her lip. Turns out it was coming from her thumb. She’d managed to give herself two paper cuts, just on the way to school, from a “Snow White” book she grabbed on her way out the door.

She got a little blood on her favorite Dan Zanes tee shirt before I could stop her from wiping her fingers on it, then we stopped at the nurse’s office and laid in a supply of Band Aids before it was time for drop off.

A long, monstery morning.

Today Annabelle and I went to Kate Belly Button’s birthday party.

(You know, it could be that I’ve already introduced Kate Belly Button, but the truth is that it’s close to midnight and I’ve promised myself I’ll deal with at least one overflowing basket of laundry before bed, so I figure I either have time to go back and read old posts and figure out whether you’ve met KBB, or I have time to write about the party. And I just spent three minutes on this explanation, so I think i’ll cut my losses at this point.)

Kate Belly Button is Annabelle’s oldest friend. Born a day apart, the girls started day care the same day at the same place. Kate’s parents, Todd and Kacey are that odd couple in that Ray and I both actually like both of them. Unheard of! And they have a sweet little boy named Evan. The girls made their first trip to Disneyland together and they’ve played at the beach. Of course, they’ve always invited one another to their birthday parties.

The birthday party thing is tricky, since Annabelle and Kate (Kate nicknamed her Annabellybutton early on, and while that nickname didn’t stick, for some reason we’ve transferred it to Kate — probably because we know several Kates) haven’t been in school together since they were 3. They have no friends in common. That can be a tricky proposition with a swimming pool full of 7 year old girls, and although the invitation arrived with both Annabelle and Sophie’s names on it, for some reason I thought it would be wiser to just bring Annabelle.

I’ll be honest. Sophie has, in fact, been known to suck the attention out of a room (or a pool). I figured Annabelle would need (and deserve, for once) my undivided attention. And although he’s certainly a lot more fun that I am, Ray doesn’t particularly like kid birthday parties.

I thought I’d keep it simple. I thought Annabelle would be thrilled. I know I never wanted my sister around, when I was 7. (Sorry, Jenny, but I know you felt the same. Now we’re BFFs. Well, close.)

Halfway to Kate’s, Annabelle asked, in a small voice, “Will I know anyone at the party?”

Uh oh. We arrived, and no, she didn’t. Just Kate, and the birthday girl was understandably swept up in the commotion of her day.

In the end, it was fine. Several girls didn’t know the others, so everyone played and swam and ate and had fun. “That was a great party!” Annabelle announced as she buckled her seat belt. It was; Kacey always throws a nice party. Her mother in law even brought eegee’s lemon ice up from Tucson.

But at the beginning, it wasn’t so good.

As she wriggled into her swim shirt in the bathroom, Annabelle looked up said, “I hope I have someone to play with.”

It suddenly occurred to me that I’d left her playmate at home.

Already, today, the sisters had cycled through several highs and lows — Sophie chased her around the dining room table til Annabelle, crying, slammed herself into her room; later, the two tangoed across the kitchen floor, gasping for breath between giggles as Annabelle tried to dip Sophie.

“I should have brought Sophie, shouldn’t I?” I asked, in a small voice.

From under the swim shirt, an equally small voice answered. “Yes.”

I don’t remember much about my own birthday parties, growing up. But I do recall my 7th — celebrated at Farrell’s Ice Cream Parlour. Where else? When some other party ordered The Zoo and the guys raced around the restaurant with it — bells banging, sirens blaring — it scared the crap out of me, like it always did. But it was a good birthday; I got one of those toy sewing machines that used glue. I also recall, that year, going to dinner at Howard Johnson’s on a separate night, where I received a yellow Snoopy watch (long gone). And of course there was also the party with the extended family, which always included a Googy’s surprise cake.

How’s that for a dose of 70s-era Phoenix nostalgia? (No, Wallace and Ladmo weren’t there, though family legend has it that my aunt once went on a date with Wallace. And no, I don’t recall having a birthday party at Legend City. Too dangerous.)

Anyhow, you get the picture. Birthdays in our family weren’t super-fancy or expensive, but they were treated like a Catholic wake — long and involved, stretched over several days, with lots of food.

And it wasn’t enough to celebrate once a year. My favorite gift ever was actually one I received on my HALF birthday, first celebrated in junior high. I got lemon-scented Tickle deodorant.

What can I tell you? My mother never met a holiday she didn’t want to celebrate. (Still true today.) One of her favorite sayings was, “Santa Claus does not discriminate against Jews.”

It was a good childhood, but as an adult, I find it hard to match the perfection of ice cream, hard candy and the player piano at Farrell’s. Twice a year, on my birthday and again on my sister Jenny’s, Jenny and I get on the phone to lament our birthdays as adults — that our husbands will never match the one-woman birthday parade that is our mother. (And let me say, Ray does a damn good job trying.)

Trouble is, the rest of the world didn’t always match Mom’s expectations for our birthdays — one of those things I only fully understand now that I’m a mother myself.

For me, each kid birthday party is a clean slate, a chance to try again to get it perfect. And with Sophie, it’s even more complicated. More on this later, I promise/threaten.

The blog’s not called Girl in a Party Hat for nothing.

Check it out. Mary Ellen is hilarious, but in a wonderfully mellow way I can only aspire to. Here’s a sample, from her own daughter’s 7th birthday party:

The last straw was when the girls divided into 2 camps. Half wanted to play with Leah’s Littlest Pet Shop and the other half wanted to dance. My husband and I thought the only way out was to suggest cake and ice cream. Desperate to unify them through sugar, we forgot to light the candles or sing Happy Birthday. With half the cake missing, we quickly added the seven candles and asked the girls to gather around to sing. Maria refused to come back inside and Dylan felt she needed to stay next to Maria. Leah ran into our bedroom crying which left Melanie, my husband and I singing Happy Birthday to an invisible birthday girl. Defeated, I blew out the candles! (My wish was not granted because the party continued.)