Jo Jo doesn’t turn three until tomorrow, but we celebrated with a party this morning.
Here she is primping in her bathroom before her guests arrive:
Ivry was a big hit among some of the older boys, who spent the first hour chasing her around the playroom and family room. Hopefully she lost a couple pounds in the process.
We had Dawny Doo provide entertainment. I discovered her last summer at another friend’s birthday party. Once you get past her name, she’s really great. The kids were totally mesmerized and she managed to captivate them for about 45 minutes, or at least until the pizza came.
I was going to use Jo Jo’s birthday post as a way to wax all soppy and nostalgic about my daughter and what she means to me. But then something unexpected occurred. Jamie picked up Johanna’s uber fancy, uber expensive birthday cake this morning and decided the garage would be the best place to store it, since it was so cool. While our guests were eating, I told him to go out and get it. He walked back in ashen faced, holding a completely mangled, chewed up bakery box. “Something awful has happened,” he said somberly and opened the box up.
Almost half the birthday cake had been devoured. And there was a large paw print on the frosting, so you knew who was responsible.
Several of the guests’ parents stood in our kitchen, gawking. I stared at the mess. Ivry had eaten about $40 worth of birthday cake. About half was still salvageable, but that wasn’t the worst of it: it was a chocolate cake, which is toxic to dogs. “Oh god,” I said, horrified. I had this image of Ivry going into convulsions and dying some horrible spastic death as everyone sang “Happy birthday dear Jo Jo”. Our gaggle of youthful guests would be in therapy for the rest of their childhoods.
Thankfully, Jamie remembered that Ivry had eaten an entire chocolate babka a couple years earlier, and the vet had recommended giving her a tablespoon of peroxide so she’d vomit it up. We forced it down her throat and threw her outside onto the deck, where she promptly took a large dump for the viewing enjoyment of those folks who were still hanging out in the kitchen enjoying their last few bites of pizza.
Jamie was able to rescue the rest of the cake, so Jo Jo was still able to blow out her candles (with some help from friends) and we had just enough for our small guests and their parents.
As for Ivry….five hours later she still hasn’t thrown up, but she’s alive and well and hovering around the carpet sucking up pizza crumbs, so I’m guessing she’ll weather this without any permanent damage. Mommy’s still a little scarred, though.
So happy b-day Princess Johanna. May you have many, many more. And may my loving, wonderful, oh-so-intelligent husband have the wisdom to never leave a ridiculously expensive birthday cake within reach of a certain overweight 85 pound labrador retriever again.