Do We Really Need to Party?

Ugh.

Tomorrow is Sabrina's birthday. She will be 7 years old. Since February she has been talking about her birthday as if turning seven is the absolute highlight of her entire existence. And I suppose to a six year old, it is.

But here's the deal.

Both of my kids have June birthdays. Back in Texas, this was totally cool because we had a giant swimming pool at our disposal, and we combined Dalton and Sabrina's party into one giant fun fest and everyone was happy.

There were tons of kids, ton of friends, tons of cake. You could not ask for a better party.

But guys. Here, well, here, we do not have a pool. We have lots of grass and a fairly big house, but I am not really one of those parents that can corral a bunch of kids into playing lots of good wholesome party games. I have friends that are complete naturals at this, and actually seem to get a kick out of this particular type of chaos. I am not one of those people. And now these kids are at the "Drop-off" age for birthday parties, and ya know, I just don't think there are enough margaritas in the world to get me through two hours of screaming seven year old girls. As much as I love my daughter, I just can't do it.

And good luck finding a pinata up here anyway.

So.

In April I started casually tossing birthday party ideas to Sabrina. How about the Art Museum? Yawn. Bowling Alley party? Nah. American Girl store? Nope. Build-a-Bear? Uh-uh.

Then she tells me that she has the perfect idea:

This to me is a whole new level of torture. Bad pizza. Disgusting germs covering all of those games. Just the thought of the noise level alone is enough to make me want to hide in my car and chain smoke.

Two weeks ago she changed her mind and decided that she didn't want the Rat from Hell to sing her "Happy Birthday" after all. (Whew!)

And now we are back to square one.

How badly will do you think she be traumatized if we just skip the whole party thing this year? Should I double-up my future therapy fund contributions?