We survived the party yesterday, with 12 little 7-year old boys, my 5-year old, 3-year old, and 1-year old. (My 5-year old daughter was not about to miss out by playing at a friend's house during the party). My husband lectured me after the party that it was unsafe for me to be alone with all of the children. He had cared for a young boy that day who had broken his finger at a birthday party and had been rushed to the hospital by "one of the parents there." My husband had a good point - one that I had not thought of during the pre-party stress.
Gratefully, we had no injuries, even with a trampoline.
Initially, they buzzed around in a big group, but then some settled in to different activities and we didn't have any arguments or problems the entire time. None of them seemed to even notice that I was there, except to pour the root beer when needed. It actually would have been quite relaxing if my 1-year old had napped during the party as I had planned.
They even organized and played an actual soccer game (without any encouragement from me).
The wii was never an issue. Only two boys played the entire time, uninterested in anything else. The others took turns without my intervening.
My 5-year old daughter volunteered to judge the lego competition. This started out slowly and then sped up quickly after I announced that the winner would get to hit the tank pinata first. Of course, she chose my son's lego creation (I found out later the competition was rigged - he had bribed her).
With twenty minutes left for the party, I announced it was time to break the pinata. That was the end of the calm and ordered party. They ALL became complete savages - I could not calm them down. It continued through the cake and ice cream and opening of presents. By the time parents showed up, I'm sure they wondered what drug I was on that enabled me to handle such chaos for two hours strait, alone, with a 1-year old on my hip. none of the boys wanted to leave, my son was right that we should plan three hours, rather than two. They all began running around the entire house like wild puppies. One father went upstairs to retrieve his son and was just in time for his son to say, "Dad, look at me!" as he soared through the air off the top of my boys' bunk bed onto a love sac in the corner of the bedroom. I'm sure the father didn't believe me when I told him the boys had not been upstairs at all during the party.
They really were a great group of boys. The only casualties were my couch (smothered pizza sauce), my piano (root beer spilled over the keys and bench) and my rug (mostly chewed candy stain and a rootbeer spill).
Not bad. Not bad at all.
Now, I shouldn't have any trouble getting rid of these shingles. My daughter's birthday isn't for a few weeks, anyway.