Rock Star Easter

I have delayed this post because it is my 100th. Usually when things are the one hundredth, there is cause for celebration. On Joey's 100th day of school, he wrote a small narrative about if he could wish for one hundred of anything, he'd wish for one hundred days to see his dad. Shortly after that, Joe came home to Buffalo for good. My heart fills for such a wish to come true.

But alas, I didn't have anything commemorative to write about. Isn't that always the way? You save up, or build up, to one big thing, and then it's time, and you're like...eh.

So I will write about all my big plans for Easter! Last year, it became a new thing to celebrate Easter at my house. I never believed I could host a whole holiday by myself, but it was Noah's third birthday, and everyone promised to help. Then, typical of me, I insisted on doing everything myself because I'm always pretty sure if I let others help me, they'll say behind my back, "She can't do anything by herself." I suppose it's because for a super long time, that was totally true.

Anyway, this year Noah's birthday does NOT fall on Easter, but I decided to celebrate them together, anyway. April 25 isn't terribly far away, and what kid wouldn't love to have an early birthday party? Last year was Buzz Lightyear themed (have YOU ever had a Buzz Lightyear Easter?), and the colors conveniently lent themselves to the season. Pastel green and purple...who knew? This year, there was pretty much no way around it being Noah's official debut as a rock star.

He has five guitars.

I'm not kidding you. What almost four-year-old has five guitars? Only one is a real guitar. Two are PaperJams (his favorites, and he sings along with his eyes closed and a spirit in his voice that words can't do justice), and two are electric guitars for kids, where buttons make loud and irritating swerve-y noises I don't much like. But I do love his spirit, and so I faithfully replace batteries and never smash volume buttons with a hammer. Because that would be wrong. And it would also break his heart.

For Christmas, Joey picked out PaperJam drums to give as a gift to Noah. Not such a hit. Noah wants the real thing. And somehow, with his big blue eyes and insanely cute voice, he convinced my sister, his "godmudder," to buy him a set. Again, I walk into this fully aware of the insanity of it, of the complete UNLIKE-ME-NESS of it, and yet I cannot deny this child his chance to be a musician. What can I say? He has talent.

While all this has been in progress, I went online to all party supply retailers and searched for the perfect rock star party accessories. I was disappointed. No one supplier offered a satisfying collection of everything I needed. So I had to get serious and spread myself out. Oriental Trading provided the favors: Glowsticks, guitar necklaces, rocker bracelets, and rock-and-roll tattoos. (Apologies to my sister, who is probably reading this and cringing in anticipation since her kids will be the recipients of said favors.) Amazon.com was the only way to go on the pinata--which is BLUE, Noah's favorite color. Party City and Birthday Express provided napkins, cups, and balloons, from one random, strange site I got a huge two feet by five feet marquis poster that announces: ONE NIGHT ONLY, NOAH BIELECKI'S ROCK STAR BIRTHDAY PARTY, APRIL 8, 2012.

Freaking awesome.

It turns out, rock star stuff doesn't color-coordinate with Easter as well as Buzz, but I just gave up caring. The morning is for church and baskets and appreciating the holiday, but the afternoon is all about Noah. God made him who he is. He gets it.

But...

...then I had a kidney stone attack. Surgery was Tuesday, and I've been left with a stent. It's a tube running out of my kidney and extending down my right side. It's awful.

But the party could still go on. I can withstand pain. I've had two children. I get migraines. I've had kidney stones lots of times before. BRING IT ON.

But...

...then my boys got sick. Really sick. The kind of sick you hear people say is "going around" and your skin crawls and your stomach lurches and you think, "Please, God, not us." At least that's what I do.

And with that, the party cannot go on. Not until my little rockstar is ready to go.