Let's Get The Party Started

When I was growing up and my dad would go away on hunting, fishing and guys' weekend trips, my mom would throw a party. (Sorry, Den, for revealing this to you now. Sorry, Mom, for revealing.)

He worked hard all week and always wanted things low-key on the weekends, so we never had any big playdates or wild ruckuses at the house. But when he left, my mom let the good times roll, with kid parties and fast food and shopping trips. It might sound like we longed for my dad to leave us on a weekend, but somehow we found him enjoyable enough to want him around for the majority of the time. :) I did love when my Mom and sister were gone (no offense to them), because my dad and I would part ways, him to the basement and me to the upstairs, where we would do whatever we wanted (I read, mostly) in complete peace until they returned three days later. We'd see each other now and then and say hello, but mostly we were in our own worlds. Heaven. 

Anyway, now Trevor has gone for a week (Vegas, for work) and I've become my mother. This morning I gave the girls little gifts I'd been hoarding for Berit's upcoming birthday, took them to gymnastics, and when Marta went down for a nap I gave Berit a big birthday gift. Why? I don't have any idea. I just did. And then I gave her an ice cream cone. And THEN, after she kind of choked on her apple a little later, I felt bad and offered her another ice cream cone, which she took and licked a few times then gave back. Why am I doing this? Do I actually have a party gene that is activated when Trevor packs his suitcases? I had planned to be so structured, and right now I'm feeling like... eh! Let them eat cake!