Oh, my gosh, y’all. I have such a typical Lindsay story to share today.
A few months ago, Emma got invited to her very first birthday party for a friend her own age. She was absolutely thrilled and talked about the party for days on end.
She planned and planned about what we should buy for a gift for her friend (she first decided to buy a Kindle Fire, but I had to talk her down to something more in the $10 price range). I finally took her to Target to buy it and she thought we needed to go to the party right then. “Not yet,” I had to tell her. “The party is on Saturday and today is only Thursday.”
Fast forward to Saturday. That morning, Emma woke up completely excited. It was party day! She put on her party outfit, after changing her mind a few times, and was ready to go get in the car. “Not yet,” I had to tell her. “The party is after lunch, and it’s only 8 o’clock in the morning now.”
So, Emma planned some more. She talked about what she was going to play with her friend. She talked about how much her little friend would love her gift. Was it time to go yet? “Yes,” I finally got to say. “Let’s go!”
Emma held the gift in her lap for the entire car trip to her friend’s house. She couldn’t wait to play and celebrate with her friend. She was as excited as any 3 year old could possibly be.
When we pulled up to her friend’s house, I feeling of panic washed over me. The party had started 15 minutes previous, but there were no other cars there. There were no balloons or decorations. In fact, it looked like the family itself wasn’t even home.
I grabbed the invitation to the party out of my purse. I had the right time, the right location…but the wrong date. The party wasn’t until the next Saturday.
Needless to say, Emma didn’t take the news very well. My sweet, joyous little girl turned into a weeping, wailing mess in 10 seconds flat. She was absolutely crushed, and it was completely my fault. All of her planning, dreaming and excitement was ruined by Mama overlooking one very important detail.
Why on Earth am I telling you about this? To embarrass myself? To make you feel sorry for Miss Emma?
No, way. It’s because this story applies so well to decorating.
(Not Emma, but might as well have been.)