I need more advice.

(I give and give and give and give and now I'm gonna TAKE!)

How do I throw a birthday party for a three-year-old? I do not know how to have a three-year-old and am therefore kind of lost.

(Motherhood Revelation #482: Taking care of a child is the easy part. It's the parenting that's tricky.)

We're throwing Wombat a belated birthday party on Saturday, and I have all the decorations color coordinated to the handmade invitations, I have lovingly embellished the store-bought party hats, and despite my continued insistence that I have nothing to do with the food part of our in-house celebrations, I have drawn up an entire menu of theme-specific treats and am spending this afternoon test-kitchening two ways to make the same damn thing, because this is proof that knowing you're crazy doesn't mean you can stop yourself from acting as such.

So! We're almost ready to go! The favors are packaged, I've gathered every theme-appropriate serving dish on the premises, and I took the fake cranberries out of our front door wreath so I can sew on some party-specific doodads I made out of felt and embroidery floss. (Simon's head just hit the desk. Some women go on shopping sprees and hide the receipts; I craft in secret.)

The problem: As for inserting actual guests into the above scenario, I'm floundering a bit.

This year we focused on inviting Wombat's friends (it was really hard to not invite friends of ours whom we love but Wombat doesn't know), and so this year, for the first time, we're going to have a house full of children. But what do we doooooo with all those children? We're not set up to have a bouncy house or a playroom free-for-all. Last year we just let them run wild through the balloons, but this year there will be no balloons (I couldn't find the right color at the store!) and because most of the kids are mostly sentient and coordinated, I'm thinking it's maybe appropriate to have something more sophisticated on tap, like maybe a game or a craft or something. Should we attempt musical chairs? Do I dare give each kid a glue stick?

For my own third birthday party (a Little House on the Prairie extravaganza, because that year was the height of my Laura Ingalls identity crisis) we played all kinds of games, but then that was in Mormon country, where healthy, modest games are what you do to keep your children away from drugs and sex and rock and roll from the ages of two to twenty or marriage, whichever comes first. In a community like that, we all knew the same games and we were all experts at playing them, so it was an easy option. Wombat's bunch, however, is a mix of friends from various parts of his life--kids from daycare, kids of coworkers, kids of bloggers, kids of bandmates--and not even a single one of them is Mormon.

So what should I do? Just get out the Duplos and train parts and let them have at it? Build a Pin the Something on the Something? Make a cupcake decorating station? Hand out sticks and rocks and take bets? Turn on Star Wars in the back room and forget about the littles entirely?

Help me, parents of three-year-olds! You're my only hope.

On Sunday, while I stayed home to work and prep for Wombat's party this Saturday, Simon and Wombat went to a birthday celebration for the little boy who lives two doors down. (A party in the neighborhood! How wonderfully normal and suburban! And how great an excuse for Simon to drink extra champagne because he doesn't have to drive, just stumble a few dozen feet until he recognizes the welcome mat!)

I told the boys not to be gone for too long because I didn't want to spend the whole afternoon alone.

"But you're not alone, Mom," Wombat informed me. "Mompth is here with you, so you're not alone." He said this with a look that implied, gently, "Duh, mom. You're so simpleminded sometimes," and Simon and I could only look at each other and smile.

(Is this blog turning into an episode of Kids Say the Darnedest Things? I'm very sorry.)

Yesterday morning he woke me up by shoving a linty pacifier in my face (origins unknown). "Look what I found! This is for Mompth!" Then he disappeared back into his room and grabbed a few books from the shelf that several months ago we'd called "baby books" simply because we didn't want to waste that evening's storytime on something so short and dumb. "These book are for Mompth too. I'm going to put them with the pacifier."

(I don't even know how he knows the word pacifier.)

(And no, he never did learn how to use one.)

As far as prepping Wombat for the arrival of his sibling, we do a lot of talking but not much beyond that. We have a total of one book about bringing a new baby home, Baby Dear, which I'd totally forgotten was one of my favorites as a wee one until Simon's mom gave us this Eloise Wilken collection, which I'd like to give four thousand gold stars on Amazon because it's now among my very most special favorite children's books (and one of Wombat's favorites too). He loves the story and the pictures and we talk about how one day soon we'll bring home a real baby from the hospital too. He sometimes dubs the nearest stuffed animal Baby Dear and does things like walk it to the store in a stroller to pick up some milk and strawberries and fish.

Aside from that, I haven't really thought about buying any books or special gifts to help him make the only-child-to-big-brother transition because, at least for now, he's been nothing but happy and excited. (I'm prepared for tantrumming/regression/aggression once the actual baby is here and taking up all my time and lap, but something tells me no amount of prep would help us avoid that, besides maybe researching preschooler-safe tranq darts.) (Please tell me there is such a thing.)

Is there something more I should be doing? Or is talking about the baby and how jazzed we are to meet him/her enough? I'm thinking of bringing Wombat to the big twenty-week ultrasound in a few weeks, but Simon's not crazy about the idea. (No major issue, he just thinks it's unnecessary.)

I only bring up this issue because one of the sweetest girls we know turned into a bit of a terror when her mom brought home a new baby sister last year, and I'd like to avoid that if possible. Is it avoidable, or just luck of the draw and alignment of the planets? Is the best prep we can do not readying him but readying ourselves, in the form of steeling our nerves and girding our loins for the trouble that inevitably lies ahead?

It's fun when kids are halfway between smart and stupid. (I'm guessing this phase changes in nature but lasts a good long while.) This is the sweet spot during which you can train your child to bring you your slippers like a dog, or you can ring a bell and have them bring you a drink like a butler, and sometimes, if you're lucky, you can make them perform tricks for family, friends, and strangers, like an adorable trained monkey minus the fleas. I think I've mentioned before that Wombat thinks flossing is a reward? Ha. Dummy kids.

Wombat has a full program of (or should I say he has been fully programmed with) stupid human tricks, and when he's on, they range from impressive to hilarious. When he's off, however, it's we, the parents, who look like baboons. Simon calls him Michigan J. Frog.

When nothing else will work, we resort to a simple call-and-response technique, suing phrases that have become so automatic, Wombat can't NOT perform. Try saying "Shave and a haircut..." and see how long you can go without caving and finishing "two bits." If you can last more than than thirty seconds (or indefinitely) you have earned one hundred gold stars and the right to be studied by science because I can't do it.

Since Wombat certainly won't perform this stuff while I have a camera in his face, here's a blog-as-baby-book list of the regulars.

What's Soylent Green. Peeeeople!

Because you're mine. I walk the line.

I'm Spartacus. No, I'm Spartacus.

Who's your favorite singer? Barbra Streisand.

Humans are... Frail.

Do we tolerate weakness in this dojo? No sensei! (Caught on tape last May!)

What do you want to be when you grow up? An architect.

And my favorite:

I wanna rock and roll all night. And party every day!

I'm sure I'm forgetting some, and his is the stuff I really want to remember because three years of parenthood has already taught me that, poof, one day it'll be long gone and the only response we'll draw from our kid will be a roll of the eyes, and that's if we're lucky.

As part of their Life Well Lived program, BlogHer asked me to post about my beauty resolutions for 2012. Here's where I'm at:

When you work from home, you hear and read a lot of advice--on t.v., on the internet, from other working folks--that one secret to keeping your head above the quicksand that is the work-at-home slob aesthetic is to get dressed for work, every day. Now, while I pride myself in putting on actual pants before I take Wombat to daycare in the morning, aside from the swipe of colored lip gloss I perform at the one stoplight between here and there, that's pretty much all I do to transition from Overtired Woman Asleep in Her Bed to Career Woman Working Several Jobs while Also Trying to Manage the Household.

From Monday to Friday you'll find me at my desk (a.k.a. the kitchen table) wearing the T-shirt I slept in the night before, one of my many pairs of slippers, the aforementioned jeans (dirty), plus whatever extra layers I need to not freeze those pants right back off (e.g., scarf, sweatshirt, down vest, wool coat, bathrobe, separately or in schizo combination). My hair is pulled back in a ponytail and I don't have a stitch of makeup on save for whatever gloss lingers from the morning's brief foray into public. As you can imagine, I'm a vision to behold.

So what business do I have sharing beauty and style advice? None, basically, but what I can do is share my 2012 resolution, which will kick in to high gear this summer, when baby Mompth joins the team. Although I'm sure I'll have the usual number of side jobs waiting for me when I get home from the hospital, I'll be on official maternity leave from my main job from July to November, and that's when I plan to get my groove back when it comes to personal beauty and style.

Yes, I know New Baby Time is the perfect excuse to wear softies all day and hole up at home, but see, that's what I've been doing for the last three years I've been working from home, meaning New Baby Time is finally my chance to get out and do something and be seen. Because I need to be seen, as that's the only way I can justify the effort of primping.

Here's why "get dressed for work every day, even if--especially if--you work from home" doesn't work for me: I don't really care how I look when I'm all by myself and lost in my job. Time spent preening is wasted time. Some people feel better when they look better; some people acknowledge that truth but can't be bothered. *raises hand* I can't even pretend I need to look nice for my husband, since I was cursed with the type who insists I'm always beautiful, even when I'm greasy and frumpy and have a well-ripened odeur. For exactly whom am I making the effort to look nice, then, when the average of four people I see on weekdays (counting a three-year-old and our Daycare Lady) couldn't care less? No one. NO ONE. And so I usually don't make the effort.

This is where my beauty goal comes in: In 2012 (starting when I'm on maternity leave from full-time desk jockeying), I resolve to GET OUT and DO SOMETHING and BE SEEN more. I know it sounds backward that I won't dress up for my husband but I will dress up for a dinner among other restaurant patrons or a night in with friends or, heck, even the Target cashier (because I've convinced myself they totally care). Basically I need an audience for my effort.

So there you go, come summer, look for me out and about and showing it all off. I'll be the lumpy new mom in a put-together outfit, hot shoes, full yet tasteful makeup, trendy accessories, styled hair, spit-up on my shirt, and bags under my eyes. And it will feel fab-u-lous. *zigzag snap*

***

BlogHer is hosting a Life Well Lived Sweepstakes. Enter for a chance to win a Kindle Fire and a $50 Amazon Gift Card.

For more from Life Well Lived program, visit the main post on BlogHer.com.

I can't remember whom I heard this from, and it's likely I'm getting some of the details wrong, but I recall talking to...someone about a couple of parents who thought a wise strategy for celebrating their child's birthdays was to reinforce how grown up he (or she?) was by taking away some symbol of the kid's babyhood. Yes, instead of giving the child a new toy or book or, hell, even a new kitchen utensil or pair of socks to signify, hey, you're bigger now, way to go!, they took away something beloved. One year it was the pacifier. Happy Birthday! *yoink* Then it was the blankie. You're two! Grow up already!
Then the diapers. Three years old means time to put away childish things!

I mean, obviously there comes a point at which binkies/blankies/nappies need to exeunt (pursued by a bear?), but as a way to "celebrate" the child's birthday? And in place of actual gifts, even modest and/or practical ones? I'm no fan of spoiled brats, but COME ON. It's a BIRTHDAY.

(Maybe they were Jehovah's Witnesses and so the kid didn't even know it was his/her birthday? Maybe?)

I said I might not have all the facts straight, but just for the sake of argutainment, let's pretend I do. This is...crazy, right?