Ponies. Clowns. Singing mice. That used to be enough. Now, we rent out restaurants. Create horse-riding adventures. Rent bounce houses and cotton-candy machines and maybe even boy bands.
Every year becomes a practice in topping what we did last year. Or what the last kid did.
You served hot dogs and had Lady Gaga sing for your kid’s party? Well, we’ll get Ke$ha and serve pizza. Deep.dish. The Party of the Year can have a few gems on the editing room floor. Some doozies on the “not quite list.”
I don’t feel like a superstar, but I do feel like a player.
I’m cutting through my work today with skill and precision. Or, at least, clarity and hope. I will probably spill something on this jersey. It’s a soccer shirt, for Newcastle United, with my name and Elise’s old number on the back.
Despite the cool gray piping and official colors, I don’t feel any more like a champion while wearing it as I would if I were in a blue T-shirt and olive green vest – like I probably will be tomorrow.