Mind if I Crash Your Party?

This week Merrilee received her very first invitation to a classmate's birthday party (she's only been to a few small affairs for church friends so far). To say that she was thrilled would be an understatement. She bounced around the house for days in preparation, she told us, for the bounce house that her friend Hannah told her would be at the party.

Matt and I, on the other hand, were a bit nervous.

"Is this the same Hannah that you got in trouble for pushing in Mr. Johnson's class?"

"Uh-huh."

"And the same Hannah Mrs. Moran said you mistreated on the playground?"

"Yes."

"Oh..."

I know this sounds pitiful, but I was just a teensy bit fearful of meeting Hannah's mom. I figured all the pre-k girls were invited as a courtesy, and I wondered how much she had been told about Merrilee, the sometime thug. As I helped Merrilee get ready to leave for the party, I realized I was taking a bit more care than usual to make sure she looked presentable. In fact, I made her take a bath and wash her hair right before we left, as if, upon noting that my child smelled of syrup, this other mother would think, "Ah, no wonder..."

I hold this ridiculous obsession with my reputation directly responsible for what followed. We were running late, and the party was in a neighborhood I'd never visited before. So I was relieved when I saw cars lining both sides of the street and the house covered in balloons. Merrilee and I jumped out of the car, ran up the sidewalk, and rang the doorbell.

A smiling woman answered the door, then looked at me querulously. We walked into the kitchen, and the querulous looks multiplied. The room was silent, and I assumed all the other kids were already out in the backyard enjoying the bounce house. I didn't expect to know anyone there, so I was surprised to see my friend Mary Hargrave leaning against the counter.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, grinning, so delighted to have actually found someone to talk to so early in the party.

"I'm supposed to be here. What are you doing here?"

"We're here for the party. Where do we put the present?"

"You mean the baby shower?"

Oh. I looked around and recognized a few more faces, all members of Mary's extended family. It was odd, after all, for a five year old to have chosen such a sophisticated chocolate brown/ ice blue motif for her party decorations.

Sigh. I will never hear the end of this at church tomorrow, but at this point I am just grateful that I didn't crash a party full of complete strangers.

Here's the best part. Once we actually found the right house, Hannah's mom turned out to be the most fantastic, friendly person. She is actually a first grade teacher at Merrilee's school. Hannah has never mentioned a thing about Merrilee the bully and, in fact, made a point of putting her on the rather exclusive invite list. She was probably the most charming kid at the party (excluding the hostess, of course).

Whereas the highlight of my afternoon had been my parting shot of "Congratulations on the baby. That punch looks tasty..." as I gathered my wilted pride and my daughter and scurried back to the car.

Over the rumbling of our little diesel engine, I could hear a still, small voice. And He was laughing.