"Daddy, I don't know how to put a card in Ava's locker, so when I'm five I will call her and say, 'Ava, I have a card for you, and it says to come to my house.'"
Lyla's fifth birthday is in just over six months, and she's kicking the planning into high gear.
"Mommy, um, when I'm five I'm gonna put notes with a sucker on it in everyone's locker so they know that they're gonna come to my house, and it's okay if they forget to come to my house, but we'll be eating pizza on the couch and watching TV and eating our suckers during Care Bears. And I'm making this place into a birthday party," she said, gesturing in a big circle, "and all of you are going to help."
"How are we going to help?"
"Mommy, you're gonna put the decorations up." Then she pointed outside to the lights on the pergola. "And Daddy, you're gonna take those lights down."
"What?" I protested childishly. "I just put them up. Why do I have to take them down?"
"You're gonna put Christmas lights up instead. I'm having a Christmas party."
"A Christmas birthday party?"
"Yes."
"Who do you think you are? Jesus?"
"What?"
"Never mind. Hey, my birthday's at the end of the month. What are we doing for my birthday?"
She thought about it for one nanosecond. "We're having your party at Pump It Up."
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