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I am an IMPOSTER

A "poser", a "wannabe", a "wuss", am I.

I have just had any type of motherly pride slapped right out of me.

I have seen Southern motherhood in action and I am AWED. It was a birthday party celebrating the 5th birthday of a little friend of my youngest daughter. It was issued, parchment style with ye olde English writing, asking for all "brave knights and faire maidens....to come to the castle for revelry, jousting and foolishment". Huh, said I. Clever, yet I am not cowed, not yet.

Then, I RSVP and ask should my littlest be dressed in some medieval manner. A flowing veil, perhaps, at least a dress? No, sugar don't worry your little head, everything should be ready to go I was informed....oohkaaaay.

Finally the day has come. Small child is fetchingly dressed, hair curled AND ponytailed and an appropriate gift in hand, I smugly enter....a castle? A restaurant? A restaurant with a castle theme? That is completely and utterly empty and decorated for the "Hero's Birthday"

A trumpet fanfare would not have been out of place.
We enter through an arched doorway, and we are greeted by a darling knight, just my daughter's age. He has a vest with a herald's crest, sword and cup at hand. He is toasting with COLA: the drink of HIS KINGDOM.

My little one is invited to select a "garment of her choice", a pink or purple little smock with flowing sleeves and colorful sash.

Girls got smocks, boys got vests (hand sewn by the queen mother). Yes.
Girls received tiaras as befits princesses, boys got swords and shields. I’m sinking into my shoes. My Yankee shoes. Which are Birkenstocks. Of course.

All revelers made cups and crowns as reflected their particular kingdom. But wait, there’s more. And the kicker?

They jousted. On rocking horses, attached to rolling carts, which could move and maneuver. When every knight won a "ring" for his "maiden", the dragon piñata was rolled forth, the piece de resistance.
At least I sincerely and feverantly prayed that this was as the daggone piece de resistance, otherwise, I was turning myself in and allowing my children to pick from the motherly lottery again. The kingly father entered head and forearms into the beast and charged the young knights. What happened next made me swell with pride even as I cried with tears of laughter. The young knights fought valiantly, but it was the wee princesses that took up the extra swords and proceed to thwack the kingly father upon his royal buttocks until he begged for mercy. The piñata was promptly punctured from the inside and the candy flowed forth.
What with the laughter and the tears and the glue and the glitter and the potato chips and the castle cake….dear, sweet fresh Lord above, there has never been such a party.
And I thought my sister had it going on. She had some kind of “under the sea” extravaganza for my niece. Of course, she lives in Florida, even farther south. I should have seen that motherly Herculean effort coming.
I know why they say “Southern by the grace of God.” Otherwise, they’d fall flat from exhaustion.

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