A gift from my men to celebrate me actually starting to make money, and not just spend it.

Yikes.

There are a lot of things I’m sure I’m rusty at, including how to look like I should be in public before noon, but I gotta say that despite the typical nerves that anyone in my shoes would have, I think my time at home may have actually prepared me to be a better employee than I’ve ever been.

Or I’ll suck at this. It’s a toss up at this point.

My last (and only) job as a parent was ideal in so many ways, but my state of mind was not. I was required to work under 35 hours a week, whenever I wanted as long as I got my writing done. My boss also was a mother, and I worked primarily with other mothers, so I never felt like I had to apologize for missing a day for a doctor’s appointment, coming in late with throw up on my shirt or chattering all through lunch about all things baby. I also enjoyed what I did (writer in the marketing department of a community college) and made good enough money, so really there was nothing to complain about. Except me, possibly.

I was happy to go back to work after Declan was born. I enjoyed my brief maternity leave, and cried for a few minutes the first day I dropped him off at the sitter’s (not for long, though, I gotta be honest. The idea of peeing and eating at my discretion was REALLY exciting after 9 weeks of starving to death with a full bladder), but I had no issue being a “working mom.” In the beginning, things went relatively smoothly, but as Declan spiraled into his “I Hate Sleep and Anything to Do With It” phase, I became mentally exhausted, unmotivated, burned out and basically worthless at work, at home, in my marriage and in life. I never missed any deadlines or screwed up anything, but was pretty far from a “go-getter” or “self-starter” or any of those other things we all claim to be in our resumes. I was a drone, in other words.

When I was laid off from my job, I was upset at the loss of income and independence that comes with working, but I was secretly glad to let my mind rest a bit. Not that staying home with a 9-month-old is all that relaxing, especially one that hates sleep, but at least I could be a zombie at home with a drooling blob of fat rolls and just kinda lay around with him. It was some what of a relief.

I know the answer to this.

Once I finally got into the groove of parenting and got a grip on things (not to mention got some much-needed sleep), I realized that a lot of the skills required to be a good worker absolutely apply to being successful at home. I’ve had to change out some skills for others, and I think those developments will serve me well in the future.

For one, in order to get ANYTHING done in a day, you have to be prepared for EVERYTHING. There is no time to waste, no waiting til the last minute. Because at the last minute, your baby will take a shit so big all of you have to change clothes. Seriously. You gotta be ready like 20 minutes early to get anywhere on time. That is a victory that has taken me years to accomplish.

I’ve learned to be extremely efficient with time, and prioritize how to put out fires all day. Because as a mom/homemaker, you are never doing just one thing. You may set out to make lunch, for example. Not so tough, right? PB&J, some fruit, some goldfish. Easy peasy. Except right around the time you get the Jif on the knife, a toddler comes in and wants to get out the pots and pans that are right at your legs. You anticipated this, so you grab some plastic utensils to give him, but then you have to keep one eye on him because you KNOW that spatula is going to be slinging cat food all over your kitchen in 10 seconds. You summon the 4-year-old to serve as a distraction. Maybe a funny dance will keep the toddler from throwing Purina all over the kitchen, right? So you make the sandwiches and sing a song and try to get everyone involved before their sugar drops and they go all Lord of the Flies on you. It takes mad skills.

Also, with kids, everything is a CODE MIDNIGHT EMERGENCY, such as “I CAN’T FIND MY BLUE CROC AND I WON’T WEAR MY GREEN CROCS!” or in Simon’s case, “WAHHHH!! AGH! GRUNT!” when anyone opens the cabinet that holds the beloved animal crackers. So you learn to quickly determine what IS most important and how to cross things off everyone’s list in a way that makes everyone happy.

The amount of patience one has to acquire just to survive a day is colossal. Tolerance toward annoying habits is tantamount as well. Think of the most annoying person you work with. A 4-year-old is worse.

So for anyone who is considering hiring a mom who has been out of the workforce for awhile, let this be a lesson: We may have been out of the office, but we haven’t been out to lunch. We’ve been honing our skills and gaining new ones, working constantly under insane conditions and getting almost no break at all. There’s little you could throw at us that we can’t handle. Because even in the worst workplace, nobody is expecting me to wipe their ass.

All working moms are part octopus, have bad hair cuts, the Zach Morris cell phone and wear 70s' suits, right?

Without going into too much detail, there has been some talk lately in the Casa de Wampler about me returning to the work force. Notice I didn’t say “go back to work,” because then all the moms in the world would swoop down on me and be like “WE DO WORK SO QUIT UNDERMINING US MOMMY WAR FOREVER WE ARE BETTER THAN YOU DIE.” And we wouldn’t want that, now would we? No, we wouldn’t.

What I mean is, the idea of me leaving my living room and changing out of yoga pants and talking to adults in return for money has been tossed around. As I’ve mentioned constantly so as to make up for the fact that I’m not very good at this, being a stay-at-home mom was never my goal in life. I had an awesome job when Declan was born. It was part-time at a community college for decent pay and was a lot of fun. Then the Great Economic Depression Crisis of 2008 or whatever happened, and the state was like “Yea, that girl that fannies around with the press releases… she’s gotta go…” and here we are. Once Paul and I decided we would have a second kid, we made the decision that unless a really great opportunity came along, it didn’t make financial sense for me to find a job that would more than likely only just cover or not even cover the cost of daycare for 2. Because I think that the cost of daycare for 2 is equivalent to the GDP of any given third-world nation.

When the thought of going back to work came up, my immediate reaction was excitement. The thought of gaining that part of me back — that part that contributes financially, that has something going on in my life outside of the playground to discuss with my husband, that gets to decide on things bigger than what to make for lunch — got my motor running. I don’t want to knock the life of the SAHM. It’s for real hardcore. This shit is not for the faint of heart, oh no. It’s just never fully felt like the best fit for me. As time has gone on, I’ve definitely gotten more comfortable with it, dare I say, even sorta good at it, but it’s always felt temporary. I’ve always known there was a finish line ahead of me, I just never knew when I would see it. Now that I’ve caught a possible glimpse at it, I can get excited about what lies ahead, but can’t help but look at what I’d be walking away from.

Obviously, not being with my boys 24/7 is the biggest, most jarring thought. I have been home with Declan since he was 9 months old, and home with Simon since always. Declan does go to pre-school now two days a week, and will go 3 half-days in the fall, so he’s kinda aging out of the program, if you will. My time with him is already shrinking as kindergarten approaches, so I’m somewhat mentally prepared for that aspect. But Simon is another story. He’s still a baby to me, MY baby. I know Declan would probably WORSHIP being at a school/daycare 5 days a week. He is so social, so outgoing and wants to be doing and learning and talking at all times. Simon, on the other hand, would prefer to spend most of his days wrapped around my legs. He has no desire to ever be away from me and just today cried when I left the living room. For the bathroom. So the thought of turning him over to a daycare is slightly more daunting.

I also feel like he’s getting the Second Kid Shaft. I have been there for every one of Declan’s milestones since 9 months. But with Simon, if I go back to work, there’s a huge chance that I will miss a lot of things. I know this is a dilemma that working parents face every day, so I am certainly not looking for pity. Hell, I could leave the room to make supper and miss his first sentence or whatever other milestones there are (seriously, being the second kid blows. Other than walking and first words, I can’t even remember what else happens. Jumping? Singing? I have no idea.). But I don’t believe for a minute that kids in daycare get parented any worse or better than kids with one stay at home parent. I just don’t. I don’t worry about them missing out on my guidance or influence or anything like that. I mean, come on, they would probably be better off with people that actually KNOW what they are doing, right?

And then there’s just my life right now. Yes, SAHMs do a lot of grunt work that never ends. No, we don’t get sick days or time alone or have a reason to wear make up most days. But you know what I DO get to do? Get together with friends for coffee and watch our kids play. Sit out in the sun and work on my tan while my boys swing. Blow off my chores for the park. Suddenly, rather than having a picnic on a gorgeous 75-degree spring day, I’d be sitting in an office, staring at a computer and looking out the window with longing.

But the bottom line is, all those things ARE temporary. The boys will one day be in school full time. They will have little lives starting up, with friends and sleepovers and sports and camp. And my life will go back to “normal,” with alarm clocks and traffic and deadlines and maybe, JUST MAYBE, enough money to pay for those sports and camps and beach trips and Disney and college. The future, as they say, is now. When I do start back to work, sooner or later, I’m still doing the best I can for my family. I’ll just be doing it in nicer clothes.

Um, can I just tell you how FREAKING AWESOME it is to go the your average shopping mall in average Knoxville, TN, and walk into any average store and know that there will be something — MULTIPLE SOMETHINGS — that will fit? I CAN tell you how awesome that is because I just experienced it this weekend, and HOLY SHITBALLS it was fun.

Now, for those of you skinny bitches that have never been relegated to the “Women’s” section, you probably will not get this post. And for that, I kinda hate you a little. Yes, all of you. P.S. Why is it the “Women’s” section? What is the other section called, the one with the sizes 0-14 clothes? Seriously, think about that and get back to me.

I’ve been hanging out with the other “Women” of the world for the past decade, and while I love my homies, I’m more than happy to say that I’ve moved on. Deuces, ladies.

Paul and I had a date night Saturday, and the majority of our plans involved clothes shopping for the both of us. I know, keeping the spark alive right there.

We get to the mall, and I had no clue where to go. Not only did I not know where to shop, I didn’t even know what I wanted. Suddenly, I get to have a style, and base that style on what I want, not what fits or what the clothing industry gurus determine is appropriate for the fatties to wear. I haven’t been in this position since college, and I am willing to bet the things that were my “style” in 1998 are both massively lame (then and now) and horribly age-inappropriate in 2012 on a 34 year old mother of 2. Unless overalls are back in, in which case, I am all over that shit.

We started at Dillard’s and Belk, your typical run-of-the-mill department stores. I was overwhelmed. I had been in these stores thousands of times — hell, I used to work at Dillard’s — yet I had no idea where to go or what to look for. So I started with what I knew didn’t work, which included: Lilly Pulitzer (too perfect), Ralph Lauren (too perfect), BCBG (too racy), Calvin Klein (too edgy), etc. I realized I didn’t need high-falutin’ outfits, I just needed cute stuff to throw on when I go places more exciting than Kroger.

For the past couple of years, I’ve pretty much done all my shopping at Old Navy and Target. I don’t need expensive clothes because my children will destroy them and I will cry. And I was sick of shopping only at the “Plus Sized” stores, because to be perfectly honest, if someone ever asked me where I got something I was wearing, I kinda hated answering them. “Lane Bryant” means one thing and one thing only: Too Big for Regular Stores. Even if it was obvious just by LOOKING at me, admitting to shopping there made it real, concrete. Queen of Denial, anyone? By shopping at “regular” stores like Target and Old Navy that happened to have a “Husky” section made me feel more normal, I guess. Also delusional, but we knew that.

Anyway, because I haven’t spent more than $15 on any one article of clothing in years, walking past some of these stores in the mall kinda gave me sticker shock. J.Crew is obviously very cool or hip or chic or whatever the kids are saying these days, but I can’t justify paying $90 for this striped t-shirt when I know most of clothes are used as a napkin or Kleenex most of the day. Stores that I loved in college, like Express and The Limited, seemed geared toward the Working Woman or the I Go Out for Cocktails at Fabulous Places woman. Since I’m a Cleaning Woman or a Drinking Beer by the Swingset Woman, I didn’t think those would work either.

The Gap seemed like a good, safe place to poke my head in without feeling suicidal afterward, so I went in with hesitation. I hadn’t shopped at The Gap since I was 21, and wasn’t sure if I was too old or still too fat to be there. I approached the shorts section much like I would a sleeping tiger: slowly and fearful of tragedy. The shorts appeared normal, unlike those denim panties so many girls are wearing these days that masquerade themselves as outerwear. The first size I picked up? 00. Seriously, Double Zero? Since when does that exist? Isn’t that what Gap Kids is for? Or Baby Gap? Whatever, eat a sandwich.

I dug around and found a couple pairs of fun colored shorts, and took my chance in the dressing room. “PLEASEFITPLEASEFITPLEASEFIT” I prayed to the Gods of All That is Casual And Comfortable. And you know what? They did.

Shorts, courtesy of The Gap. Belief that posing like that makes me look like Tyra Banks, courtesy of my booze addled brain.

Woo-Hoo! So I picked up a couple pairs of shorts there, and ended up hitting the JACKPOT at Tommy Hilfiger, of all stores. I thought everything made by Tommy would make me look like I was adorned in the U.S. flag and cost $75 per star or bar, but I was totally wrong. I bought several shirts in there and kinda fell in love with the store. It’s the perfect mix of preppy and casual that I guess is my style now? Who knows. Next week I’ll probably be all about bohemian chic or disco hippy or whatever crap was in style 6 years ago but I’m just now learning about, but that’s OK. I’m just thrilled to know I can participate in fashion trends now and not just watch from the sidelines in my billowy top and roomy pants.

Here are my purchases, how did I do?

My new non-fat clothes. I may keep the tags on just to prove to everyone where I bought them.

And speaking of A Family Village, don’t forget to enter to win $250 from A Family Village, me(!), and 24 other awesome sponsors!

That’s a lot of fru$tration.

Today, I almost had a total breakdown at Kroger, and my kids weren’t even with me. I was walking up and down the aisles, looking at the labels on such products as “Jillian Michaels Whey Protein!” and wondering which product that guy from Jersey Shore was shilling — Hydroxycut? Valtrex? Something with an X — and considering subbing not two but three meals a day for a disgusting delicious Slim-Fast Shake, when I felt the hysteria coming on. What was I doing looking at this crap? What is going on with me? Why is nothing working??

Calling it "chocolate" doesn't really convince me it's delicious...

I was almost in tears, seriously. And if there is one place you don’t want to cry, it’s the  local grocery store.  Nothing says Total Lunatic like sobbing while perusing the frozen foods.

I finally put down the Empty Promises in a Box and came to my senses. But I was still left with an overwhelming feeling of frustration and confusion. What am I doing wrong??

It’s been almost a year since I joined the gym, started counting calories on My Fitness Pal and began my hard push toward my goal of losing 100 pounds. From May to December of last year, I lost 30 pounds. From December to mid-April, I’ve lost 3.

Something ain’t right.

But what?

I decided to start with my food diary. I am pretty damn diligent about recording everything I eat. Sure, I miss a licking of the peanut butter spoon or a bite off of Simon’s tray (at his request, and I always regret it, but you can’t really turn down his chubby little hand shoving a gummed up graham cracker in your mouth while going “NUM NUM NUM!”), but for the most part, I am honest about what I eat. (In the interest of full disclosure, I rarely if ever record beer/wine. Because that’s getting consumed no matter what. More about that in a minute.) I can’t remember the last time I went over my daily calorie goal, and according to my math, in the past month, I have averaged 1176 calories a day in food eaten. On the days I exercise, I typically burn between 550-700 calories doing cardio, 200-300 during weights, and I never eat my exercise calories.

Is it possible I’m not eating enough?

I’m skeptical.

First of all, I’m still a really overweight person. I find it hard to believe that I’m in some sort of “starvation mode” when I have fat stores out the literal ass. Seriously, if I ever survive a plane crash in the Andes Mountains, I am first to go. I accept it, and carry hot sauce with me as a courtesy to my friends/cannibals.

I’m also not hungry, thanks to my lapband being adjusted. Trust me when I say that I could not EVER starve myself. I have no ability to overcome the urge to eat when I’m hungry. Sure, I can bide some time by drinking water, but once the idea of food enters my head, I am a woman on a mission. Seriously, just typing about being hungry is making me want to go eat something, and I just did eat something. I am the anti-anorexic.

So I’ve been examining my life for the past few months. What has changed?

• I stopped nursing.
• The old “monthly visitor” came back.
• I’m working out smarter but not necessarily more. I’ve added in some weight training.
• I’ve had my lapband tightened, allowing me to feel full sooner and after eating less.

I did cut back on my consumption of alcohol during Lent (no drinking during the week!), and made it about 30 days in before I was like “yea, right” and had a beer on a Monday or a Wednesday or some other day that ends in a Y. But since my Lenten sacrifice (and that is what it was. A SACRIFICE.), I am drinking way less frequently, which is pretty amazing considering there are times I set up clocks in my house on Greenwich Mean Time to get 5:00 here faster. And while I don’t add those calories in to my diary, I don’t drink enough for it to be the issue at hand. And let’s face it, I’m not giving up Mommy’s Little Helper any time soon.

Oh look, it's 5 o'clock in Hong Kong! Cheers!

Paul and I did some research tonight on the interwebz, and I am thinking that it might be a slight possibility that I am actually not eating enough. Which is total insanity to me. I mean, obviously I could always eat better, and try to work out more, but considering where I am now vs. where I was a year ago — hell, 6 months ago — I am doing pretty good.

So after reading this, I’m willing to give it a try and actually eat MORE. But if after a few weeks, if I’m not seeing results, I’m turning to The Situation for help.

So part of being a blogger these days is taking part in giveaways, so I am taking the plunge in the spirit of MOTHER’S DAY!!!

Here at Domestic Disturbia, I am excited to collaborate with A Family Village to celebrate YOU or your Mom. We have teamed up with our closest 25 friends to bring you a fun cash giveaway! One lucky winner will win $250 to be deposited directly into their PayPal account!! Awesome right?

This giveaway is sponsored by 25 incredible businesses and blogs (including me!) — and you will love getting the chance to check them out.

To enter, you are REQUIRED to simply follow each of the steps using the Rafflecopter form below! Also, go check out the fabulous business owners and bloggers involved in this event. Giveaway starts 4/22 at 12:01 am EST and ends 5/13/12 at 12:01am EST. Good Luck!

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Blame it on the holiday weekend + Declan’s birthday party + too much junk food + not enough sleep, and you have a recipe for bitchiness in this house. And this morning, we had a buffet of bitchiness before coffee had even been poured. I, of course, was spooning out extra servings to everyone.

So yea, I was tired and grumpy, and things got off to a bad start when, after I’d been up for an hour because Simon was crying but then went back to sleep but I couldn’t, Paul said something like “We need to get in bed earlier since he’s getting up earlier,” and I heard that as “If you didn’t stay up til midnight playing Draw Something and checking Facebook obsessively, you’d be a good mother.” Which is a totally normal interpretation, no?

I responded snarkily and not all that cleverly, and luckily he ignored me and went about his business getting ready for work, and probably getting down on his knees and praising all that is holy that he had a job to go to that was far away from me.

A while later, I was sitting at the kitchen table with Declan, who was talking incessantly about his imaginary friend Ken the Girl Chicken while the Prince of Darkness Simon screamed bloody murder at me because I rudely was attempting to serve him an English muffin for breakfast and not graham crackers LIKE HE ASKED FOR BY GESTURING AT THE CABINET AND GRUNTING and throwing food all over the kitchen. As enjoyable as this seems at 8 a.m., I had just a smidge of a headache, and I was rubbing my temples and “ignoring” Simon when Paul walked in from the bedroom. He took one look at this Rockwell painting and said, as he bent down to Simon, “I’ll just take over.”

I’m sorry, what?

You’ll do what? I must have misheard you. You’ll “take over”?

Huh.

This did not go over as intended, I believe.

How about you stick that turkey up your ass?

I say that because as far as husbands go, I have a good one. A great one. Maybe the best. And while he certainly isn’t perfect and may have one or two teeny tiny flaws, he is never hurtful. But for some reason, when he made this one comment, I took SUCH offense to it. It took me all day to figure out why exactly.

And lo and behold, it doesn’t make a lot of sense.

But I can explain.

I have a hard time with the fact that I don’t have a job. Or I guess a job-job. Yes, being a mom is work, and I work in the home and all that blah blah. I know. But I never set out to be a stay-at-home mom, and even though I’ve been doing it for almost 3 years now, I don’t know that I’ll ever fully embrace my role as a non-working partner.

Maybe as a defense mechanism or maybe as part of my evolution as a SAHM, I have come to consider the day-to-day minutiae MY BUSINESS. My thing. Because practically speaking, it is MY THING. Most kid “things” fall to me logistically. Paul doesn’t prefer it that way, he doesn’t take a hands-off approach. I am just with them more hours during the day than he is, so it’s just natural.

I still welcome his help on basically anything, though, because I think we all know my laziness is almost second to none. If Declan could cook for Simon and Simon could feed the cat, I would basically be in heaven.

But I digress.

So if I welcome his help and have a husband who is willing to help, why on EARTH would I balk at his offer of help?

Because I don’t want help. Or, I should say, I don’t want to NEED help.

I don’t want my husband to walk in — either from the shower or from a day at the office — and see me, head in hands, with kids screaming and food everywhere. I don’t want him to see me losing my cool or letting the kids eat animal crackers for a meal. I want him to think that I’m good at my job, that I’m the BEST at it. I want him to be proud of what I do and to see me as an equal intellectually. I don’t want him to see me sweat.

But here’s the thing. Parenting isn’t MY JOB. It’s what I do most of the time, and it sure as hell is work, but it’s not a job. It’s my life. OUR life. To say that parenting the boys is my job negates his role in our boys’ life. And to say being a mom is my job, then what of the working moms out there? God knows they put in enough hours to consider it a second job, but it’s more than that. Way more.

So I had to eventually swallow my pride and apologize for my tee-tiny overreaction to his comment. No, I didn’t need him to take over, but no, he wasn’t insulting my character by offering. He was being a good dad while I was trying to be a good mom. These are the kinds of problems I want to have. That, and too much money. I want that problem, too.

So not only is it Declan’s fourth birthday, it’s the anniversary of my time as a mother. I deserve a cupcake, too, people. And in my four years as a mom, one lesson keeps coming up over and over when it comes to dealing with kids: Keep it simple.

We overthink parenting. Look at the 1 million parenting sites and books and blogs (hello?) out there telling us “do this/don’t do that” about literally EVERYTHING. But what it all boils down to is this: kids aren’t that hard. Well, they are IMPOSSIBLE, actually, but dealing with them really isn’t hard if you just quit trying to complicate things. You want them to eat healthy? Serve healthy food. You wan’t them to stop throwing tantrums all day long? Ignore them. You want well-behaved kids? Teach them manners. I’m not saying that the steps involved are easy, but the thinking is. Just do it, Nike. Just do it.

Case in point: Today, Declan’s birthday.

This whole week is basically filled with birthday revelry. Yesterday at school, Simon and I brought cupcakes for snack time to celebrate Declan’s birthday with his class. Saturday is his actual party, a “bug party,” per his request a few weeks ago when I asked him what kind of party he wanted. There was no rhyme or reason for a bug theme. He probably literally saw a bug when I asked what kind of party he wanted, and said “bug party.” So what did I do? Head over to Pinterest, of course, to find all the ways in which I fail as a person, and started planning a “simple” bug party. I’m super smug about it, too. I keep things SIMPLE. Not like those OVER THE TOP people that go ALL OUT with SOMETHING TO PROVE.

I am so superior.

But I am so not. After today, I would actually give anything to find a way to NOT have the party on Saturday. Not because Declan doesn’t deserve a party or because I don’t want to throw a party. But because I don’t think Declan — or any 4 year old — gives a rat’s ass about a party.

The sheer joy I saw from Declan all day today proved to me that even though in my head I was keeping it simple by “only” throwing a “small” party at our house, even THAT was unnecessary. And even worse, it’s probably more about me than him.

Yuck.

So you want to know how to celebrate a 4-year-old’s big day the RIGHT way? Here’s how:

• He needs a crown/hat/badge to wear that shows it’s his big day.
  

  Crown, courtesy of the 3/4 Year Old Class at school. Dora courtesy of my nightmares.

• Let him eat whatever he wants (within reason) for breakfast and lunch (Declan’s choice: PB and Chocolate Cheerios, Popcorn and Popcicles), and let him eat it in the living room with the TV on.
• Invite some friends over to dye Easter Eggs, play outside and walk to the park.
  

  In 15 years, I won't love pictures of Declan surrounded by red Solo cups. But for today, it's cute.

• Make sure somebody mails him something. There is NOTHING more exciting to a 4 year old than getting mail or a UPS delivery, especially if said mail/delivery is birthday cards and gifts from grandparents.
• Let him choose the dinner menu (within reason). In our case, chicken nuggets and mac and cheese. I went all out and made homemade chicken nuggets for the adults (I stuck with frozen for the boys) and baked macaroni and cheese. I know, I’m amazing.
• Eat outside.
• Give him his presents, including a new (to him) bike, a huge water gun, a live bug projector (vomit) and tons of candy.
  
• Have some cupcakes.

Seriously, Declan was THRILLED all day today. And now, the upcoming party feels like overkill. I think it won’t matter to him, and I think it was my way of trying to make myself feel like a “good mom,” honestly. And that is lame in the worst way.

So yes, the party will go on, and I know it will be fun and a good time will be had by all. But I am going to remember this for next year, and the years after. I’m going to remember that the things that make little boys happy are not cute decorations or a themed event. It’s playing and running, breaking some rules and wearing silly hats. Isn’t that everybody’s birthday wish?