Ray was suspicious.

“Who’s this party for, anyhow?” he asked, as I dragged in yet another bag of materials for Annabelle’s birthday party, launching them onto the already-overflowing dining room table.

I bristled, but of course he was right — the party wasn’t just for Annabelle.

She had a hell of a time, though. My vindication came about halfway through the event yesterday, when my mother pulled me into a corner to stage whisper that Annabelle had just announced, “This is the best birthday party ever!”

Even Ray had to admit it was pretty cool. Project Annabelle was a success.

True, there were some sad younger siblings. We only included kids Annabelle’s age (plus Sophie), a change from the free-for-all parties I usually favor. And by the end of the day I was calling it Project-What-The-Hell-Was-I-Thinking as I removed sequins from all sorts of places around the house. Still, all in all, a big thumbs up.

The concept was simple: Invite seven girls over, put them around the dining room table (safely protected with oilcloth, naturally) and let them create an outfit. Then, a fashion show for the parents, and cupcakes.

The execution was less simple. It involved multiple trips to SAS Fabrics, Michael’s, various dollar stores and Target, and even at that we had a last minute run to Walgreen’s for more accessories and hair gel. I piled a table with notions — everything from tiny ribbons to oversized rick rack, patches, fabric remnants, beaded trim, fabric markers, fake fur — then added glue, scissors, a Bedazzler and, as it turned out, eight adults.

The idea was to surprise the parents, so my friends (along with my mom and one of Sophie’s babysitters) graciously volunteered to help hot glue, cut, stitch, curl, lipstick and accessorize. (The girls all had their own ideas; but we didn’t want them handling sharp scissors and needles or hot glue and curling irons. Or mascara.) Three hour laters, we had a fabulous runway show, eight delighted girls and eight exhausted adults.

I wish my pictures were better. The assignment was to create a Back to School outfit using a white tee shirt. Sophie was precious in a Bedazzled tee  tied at the shoulders in silver sequins and finished with a purple polka dotted Snoopy “skirt”. One party guest trimmed and tucked her shirt into a two piece tube top and fringed mini. Another covered hers in fake roses. Kathleen (pictured above) manned the hot glue gun for hours.

Annabelle’s outfit was lovely, if I say so myself (and not because I helped her with it — I’m useless in the sewing department; that was all Trish), with a simple design nipped in at the sides, trimmed with beaded fringe, fake yellow fur and a big jeweled applique. She finished it with a sequined hat and purse (the Dollar Tree’s finest) and someone even straightened her hair.

I can’t figure out just what it is that’s so satisfying about the Do It Yourself, arts and crafts movement. I pore over Martha, shop on etsy.com, and when the documentary “Handmade Nation” came to town, it was a near-religious experience. Whatever it is, Annabelle gets it. (And she’s even good at it — far better already than I ever was.)

We’re not alone. Everyone’s favorite gift yesterday was created by 7-year-old Teadora, who embroidered a dog dreaming of a cupcake, painted it, then decorated it with sprinkles. Her mom Gilda framed it for her.

“NO WAY!” Annabelle screamed in delight. We’re looking for just the right place to hang it.

This morning, when I ran back to her room to grab some socks as we headed out the door, I noticed Annabelle had placed her tee shirt dress in a place of honor, draped over the chair where her American Girl dolls sit.

And the season’s not quite over. Since my sister and her family live out of town, they weren’t able to come yesterday. So it’s been decided we’ll have a Project Annabelle sequel on our beach trip later this summer. Luckily I  have plenty of materials left over.

True, sometimes life feels a little more like the mad run up to the big day or the letdown you feel right after, or one of those ugly fights neighbors get into over competing holiday light displays, but I can honestly say that I still roll over, a lot of mornings, with that sparkly feeling that the day holds something pretty great.

So I have no idea why I’m so obsessed with birthdays, particularly birthday parties. If every day’s Christmas, must there also be a birthday party? (And I’m not counting Jesus and his birthday here. Nor can it be my own. But anyone else’s — particularly my kids’ — I’m all over that. In what I’m quite sure is an unhealthy or at least unattractive way.)

This past Sunday morning, I went in to get Sophie up. We had our usual hugs and kisses and discussion about whether her pull-up was wet (it was) and I said, “Hey, are you going to wish Annabelle a happy birthday party — um, I mean a happy birthday?, today”

I was embarrassed by the slip, confirmation that I’m more obsessed with the trappings than the purity of the occasion. Of course Sophie didn’t notice.

And the truth is that Annabelle’s birthday isn’t for another three weeks, but her party was, indeed, last Sunday. I had Sophie’s party a month early this spring to avoid the heat and the end-of-the-school-year rush, and that worked so well I figured why not do the same for Annabelle. I knew it’d still be boiling hot (it was) but at least most of her friends would still be in town, I guessed, before the July dash to cooler climates. (They were.)

I think the party turned out ok. Annabelle announced it was the best day of her life, so really, what more can I ask? And except for a behind-the-counter crunch that resulted in no drinks or pizza for quite some time (I maintain that in order to work at a bowling alley, you must be stoned, and thus, can’t be asked to do much, although I did pitch a huge but quiet fit that resulted in a large cost savings when it came time to pay the bill) it all went pretty smoothly.

At one point, though, when the 10th kid had begged me for something to drink and the 6th was demanding food, a friend looked at my face and said, “Huh. Bet you could use a drink,” and motioned to the bowling alley’s bar, which did happen to be conveniently situated right behind us.

“Oh no,” I said. “Don’t you remember what happened at Sophie’s party?”

It seemed like a really good idea to serve alcohol at Sophie’s birthday party, which we held at home. Nothing hard, just a tin tubful of Sofia — tiny pink cans of sparkling wine, made by Francis Ford Coppola in honor of his daughter. They are too cute, even come with a bendy straw. I LOVE Sofia and heck, Sophie’s practically got the same name, so it seemed smart to buy all the Sofia they had at BevMo. That was only five boxes of four cans each, and I got it in my head that they’d go fast, so I sucked down three and spent most of my kid’s fifth birthday party snockered. (Snookered? You know what I mean.)

It really wasn’t a problem, except that I forgot to serve the culinary highlight, tiny containers of Ben & Jerry’s in assorted flavors, and also lost track of Sophie long enough for her to open all of her presents, creating an interesting situation when it came time to write thank you notes.

All of which is to say that birthday parties stress the hell out of me, but I love them, crave them, start planning for them months in advance, and never feel satisfied once they’re over. I love birthday party junk, particularly if it’s vintage. I own four pink nut cups and two old books about how to play your kid’s party. (Not counting Amy Sedaris’ “I Like You,” the best.)

I’m mindful of that whole over the top thing, the boundaries of which I’m sure I leapt across when Annabelle was 4 and my friend Kacey and I threw a 50s party for our girls, complete with sock hop attire and pounds (literally) of nostalgia-inducing candy. (And more details I’m too embarrassed to share. Really, it wasn’t THAT bad, I’ve been to worse, but we did lose our minds a teeny tiny bit.)

Check out the story one of my friends and colleagues, Robrt Pela, wrote last year about truly over the top kid parties: http://www.phoenixnewtimes.com/2007-03-29/news/my-super-sweet-six/

Back to Annabelle’s, I think it was subdued. How fancy can you get at a bowling alley? OK, so they had matching hot pink bowling shirts. And I did take the girls to ABC Baking, a local baking supply store (hence the name, duh) the day before, and let them pick out plastic rings and cupcake toppers (for 15 cents each, you can’t go wrong, it’s my new favorite summer activity, a trip to ABC) and I did make little goody containers out of water bottles shaped like bowling pins (thanks to my sister for that idea) and ok, I did order a stamp on Ebay with a little pin and bowl so I could make tags for the water bottles, but I kept myself from making a special trip to MIchael’s to buy white tags and made due with the manilla ones I had at home, which I thought showed incredible self-restraint.

The water bottles and the plastic rings and the Fry’s cupcakes (I iced them myself, for that messy, homemade look) with the plastic bowling pins stuck in them looked ok, but yeah, I did need a drink. I knew that half the parents were thinking, “What a freak, why’d she do all that?” and the other half were thinking, “Hmph, that looks like shit.” And I, of course, was thinking both things.

Maybe I should look into anti-anxiety meds. But really, I think a couple cans of Sofia would have done the trick. Or not. As it was, I forgot to take any pictures til the party was over and Annabelle looked — well, looked like she had a damn good time at her birthday party.

At least I have a neat list of everything everyone gave to Annabelle. And I remembered to serve the cupcakes.

TOMORROW: THE ROOT OF THE BIRTHDAY PARTY OBSESSION.

I THINK.