You are cordially invited

I consider myself to be a pretty capable person. I have good management skills. I’m organized (well, except for my desk – we all have our downfall). I can successfully coordinate groups of people. So, why the HELL am I having so much trouble getting a birthday party off the ground?! My daughter just turned 15. My incredibly gracious sister offered to throw a pool party for her and some friends, instead of buying her a gift. This makes a whole lot of sense considering THIS daughter takes about a year and a half to write a Christmas list. She’s not good at asking for what she wants. Trust me when I say, in the overall scheme of things, this is a blessing. When you actually WANT her to ask for something, it’s a pain in the ass. So, fine. Here we are. My sister tells my daughter approximately how many teens she’s willing to have invade her backyard – a number somewhat higher than I’d be willing to deal with, in her position. I’m thinking this is a great thing. It should make the guest list a piece of cake (oh crap! I have to buy another cake!). She’s prepared to supply pizza, sodas, chips and junk food. Wheeee! All I need to do is throw in a veggie platter, maybe a fruit tray, the cake and they have a party. What could be easier? Well, apparently NOT the guest list! For about a week now, my daughter (who I’ve coined “Invitationally Impaired” or I.I. for short) has obsessed over who to invite and, even more importantly, who NOT to invite to this little shindig. It seems, when you’re 15, your whole social standing will be made or broken by the guest list. Our conversations have contained such gems as “I can’t invite her unless I invite the other two girls – they do everything together! Well, two at a time anyway.” Three best friends who can apparently only handle each other in pairs. Nice. Then, there was “My boyfriend is going to be the only guy at the party?!?” Uhhh, no honey. Unless you want heartbreak in mega doses, don’t invite your boyfriend to a pool party with 6 or 8 girls, in varying stages of undress (have you SEEN bikinis lately?) and expect his attention to stay centered on you. Whether it’s your birthday or not is irrelevant. Too much bouncing and swaying is enough to … elevate … any 15-year-old guy into hormone hyperactivity. The solution? Invite more boys. At this point, I.I. informs me that she “thinks” this girl “might” like that boy – but she’s not sure because she heard they were fighting a lot. Then, she can’t invite that guy because he’s already dated (and dumped) the majority of the girls on the guest list – BUT he’s a friend of her boyfriend. Somewhere around this point, my eyes glazed over and rolled back in my head. I know it’s not easy being a teenager. I remember it all too well. The shyness. The awkwardness. The struggle to do things “exactly right.” The desire to smack that bitch right upside the…. Sorry – my feet got stuck in the mud on Memory Lane. At this point in time, I.I.’s party still hangs in the balance. RSVPs were requested by tonight. Her email account is eerily quiet but at least the phone rang. Her boyfriend will definitely be there. Unfortunately, no matter how good my planning and organizational skills may be, this one rests firmly on I.I. All I can do is hope that her so-called “friends” come through for her. Otherwise, I’ll be intensely driven to smack those… well, you get the idea. In my book, “birthday” should always and forever be preceded by “HAPPY” – even if I have to micro-manage it to death to make it so.