When I was in fourth grade, I had to do a book report and presentation on Sojourner Truth. I did a poster with a portrait or her on it. And by "I did" I mean my father, who is artistically inclined, drew it. The teacher reminded the entire class that they should be doing their own projects upon seeing my poster.
When I was in fifth grade, we had to make miniature parade floats representing an assigned state. Mine was Illinois. Everybody else used construction paper and shoe boxes. Some of the more advanced ones had paper mache. Not me. I had a wooden float with wheels, a hand-carved, wooden Abe Lincoln, three wooden boxes showing the state's natural resources and a holder for the states flower. All put together by my father while I stood there and watched. I might have helped paint. Maybe. I won the blue ribbon and got in the local newspaper.
Fast-forward 20-some years as I plan for my daughter's flower-themed first birthday. We are a little more than two weeks away from the party that my parents graciously agreed to have at their house. My father has added flowers to his already beautifully landscaped lawn. He keeps bringing up decoration possibilities such as wooden flower cut outs to put candles on (for ambiance?) and has even cut out 3-foot tall wooden replicas of the birthday invitation to paint.
He's not the only one. My mother is planning enough food to feed twice as many people as invited. She keeps offering to do this and that despite my telling her over and over again that they are doing more than enough. We are getting together this weekend to go over all of the plans and get the rest of the party supplies like balloons and a pinata (kidding, but there is a really cute flower pinata that I see everywhere that I really want to buy.)
People keep looking at me funny when I tell them about the plans for the party and that I am taking the entire week off before it to get prepared.
My response: It's not THAT bad. It's not like we are going to have ponies and clowns.
That I know of.