45) The Fun Police*

”How come birthday parties are always two hours? Like 1-3 time?” Your daughter wanted to know.

“I think that’s probably the human limit for what an adult can tolerate,” you answered.

Your daughter seemed to contemplate that for a second then shook her head to show she understood.

“You’ll see what I mean,” you added.

She had gotten up early that morning and immediately changed into her party dress. She had you do up her hair nice and even asked for a little bit of makeup and a dash of ‘spray’ (perfume). You applied the makeup and supervised the perfume so she didn’t wind up looking and smelling like the driver of a clown car that crashed into a Bath and Body Works outlet.

She was excited. Today was going to be her first birthday party with invited friends and she couldn’t wait for guests to begin arriving.

The day before she and grandma made strawberry cupcakes with pink strawberry frosting. Today she helped to neatly line the cupcakes around the decorative faux cake / cupcake display. She poured flourescent orange cheese balls from a large plastic container into a big acrylic bowl. David popped fresh popcorn in the popcorn machine that died halfway through the popping. The last bowl she filled with potato chips. You laid out plates, napkins, cups (with a marker for writing names), and three large containers of juice.

“You think we’re sugaring these kids up enough?” You asked David as you read the sugar content on the label of one of the juices.

“That’s why the party is two hours long.”

“See that’s what I was trying to tell our daughter… she wanted to know why all kids’ parties are two hours and I told her that’s all parents can take…”

David nodded his head, “Definitely.”

“Do you know where the aluminum foil wound up?”

“I have no idea… that was part of your circus,” David said with his hands up as if he were physically trying to push your inquiry.

He had told you that it was a terrible idea and he wanted no part of it… “The Pita Pizzas.”

He had planned on buying a bunch of pizzas and calling it a day. You weren’t having it.

“That’s such a waste of money. I don’t want to do it. We’re going to spend a fortune then wind up with a fridge full of uneaten pizza. Every party our kids have been to, only half the people who RSVP show up… you’re going to buy enough pizza for everyone and then some and we’re going to have less than that show up…” you said.

“So what do you want to do then?”

“Pita pizzas… we can get little pitas, some sauce and cheese and the kids can make their own mini pizzas as wanted…” you offered.

He shook his head and frowned, “And whom may I ask… is going to make all those mini pizzas?”

“Well by the look on your face and the tone in your voice, I guess I’m Papa John for the day.”

“You nailed it. I want no part in this. My contribution was going to be to open my wallet and call it a day… you want to cook up who knows how many mini pizzas and supervise that… have at it. But count me out.”

“That’s fair,” you said immediately realizing that maybe having a bunch of kids making their own pizzas could in fact become a shit show and that maybe there was something to just buying the pizzas… but at that point, you were already all in.

You decided that you would get everything prepped, including aluminum foil cookie sheets to at the very least help contain the potential shit show. Oddly enough you immediately thought of Tampa General Hospital before the string of hurricanes that had helped cement your decision to move out of a flood zone… As soon as the news came that a Cat 4 storm may impact the area, the hospital had sprung into action constructing a massive barrier system around the entire perimeter of the building. The building of the temporary wall took a full time crew and just about a week to put together. After the first storm passed, the wall was left in place until the end of the season. Ultimately, despite the Herculean effort to erect the barricade (let alone the cost to purchase and place such a system) there was no direct storm hit but there was massive surge and the mighty little wall proved most valuable, saving the building from several feet of floodwater. Someone probably got a big bonus with that idea.

You thought of the party in the same way… this had all the potential to turn into a Cat 5 shit show… 20-40 kids and adults you didn’t know, a mini pita pizza assemblage to supervise, a basement full of steel beam columns (that you covered in balloons and wrapped in crepe paper to keep kids from running full steam into one), more candy and sugar than the corner gas station, a piñata (complete with steel tipped beating pole), and two full hours in which the chaos had plenty of time to ramp up and unfurl. Prepping cookie sheets, and games, and prizes, and anything else you could think of was your proverbial hurricane barrier: just in case.

“Mommy… Katie said that she’s coming to my party,” your daughter came to you very concerned about an hour before the party was going to start. Your daughter ‘hated’ Katie. You had told her not to say that she ‘hated Katie’ because that wasn’t very nice…

“Well I do… she’s a pain in the ass. All she does is talk over everyone and she’s mean and cries whenever she doesn’t get her way,” she added. The one time you met Katie you could understand why… Katie like your daughter had said, was crying about not getting a fourth cookie. Your daughter was kind to everyone, she made an effort to get along with everyone, even kids that weren’t nice to her… Katie however was insufferable. Katie drove your daughter nuts and if you were being honest, the two minutes you had spent around the little terror were enough to solidify that you shared the opinion.

“She’s not coming. Her mom didn’t RSVP.”

“Well she said that she’s coming anyway!” Your daughter announced, her eyes wide open with grave concern.

“That’s not how that works Bev… I’m telling you that when you don’t RSVP for a party you don’t show up…”

“Well she said that she’s coming…” she leaned in.

You understood why the school did it… you agreed with why the school did it… and yet having to invite everyone… or no one in the class definitely… in cases like this… had their drawbacks. On one hand you felt terrible for all the little kids that were constantly excluded from invitations… and on the other hand when it came to kids like Katie you thought that maybe some kids should be excluded. That last part though, you kept to yourself.

“I promise she’s not coming…”

“Who’s not coming?”

It was your middle child, he had caught the tail end of your conversation. You could barely get him to clean up after himself, yet if tea was being spilled… he was always there. “Nothing Harrison… don’t worry…”

“Katie said she’s coming to my party!” Your daughter said cutting you off.

“Is that the girl in your class you hate?”

“That’s not nice. I told your sister not to talk about hating other kids.”

“Well I do hate her,” she said arms folded, her face matter of fact.

“Mom, some kids suck. It’s basically just a reality of life,” said Harrison agreeing with his sister.

“It’s also not nice,” you said.

“Neither is Katie!” Your daughter interjected.

“Well you don’t have to worry Bev. She’s not coming to this party… WE got this…!” Harrison took off across the basement and ran through the double doors up to the sanctuary yelling for his older brother… you could hear his excited voice muffled through the ceiling and floor.

You went back to party prepping setting out the remaining prizes for the games and helping David relocate the piñata to a safer location.

“Hey mom… where’s the guest list?” It was Elliot wearing a polo shirt and clip on tie. He had on a pair of sunglasses and a walkie talkie in his hand.

“The guest list?” You asked.

“Yeah… that list you had with the names of the people that RSVP’d? Harrison and I need it.”

“For what?” You wanted to know.

“For security purposes. We’re going to be enforcing the guest list for this event.” And then into his walkie talkie, “Harrison… I’m getting the list. Did you find the swords and your Nerf gun?”

There was a crackling and then Harrison’s voice came in over the little plastic walkie talkie, “That’s a negative on the sword. I found the big Nerf gun…”

“Wait just a second! What do you need the guest list AND weapons for.”

Elliot rolled his eyes, “Hey Harrison… just wait a second. Mom is interfering in official business.”

“Ugh… you gotta be kidding me. Ok,” Harrison said over the static.

“Mom… the sword is in case Katie… or any other party crashers show up. Harrison and I will neutralize the threat. We’re security.”

Elliot had made a habit of tormenting his sister. He had laid that claim pretty early on which meant that while he was mercillessly arguing with and teasing her, he had monopolized that position and was quick to pounce on anyone that tried to jump on his birthright. Katie didn’t stand a fucking chance.

“Ok… here’s the compromise. I will give you the ‘guest list’ and you can ‘check’ people in since this is a ‘K-Pop Demon Hunters concert’ theme party… that tracks… but there are no swords or guns allowed.”

“Wait? Like people can’t bring in swords and guns or…”

“You’re the people! I don’t want you and your brother standing there at the door with swords and guns like freaking mob goons…”

“What’s a mob goon?” Harrison had come into the basement.

Elliot pulled off his sunglasses and put his hand to his forehead in exasperation then paused as if he were about to repeat the most basic of instructions to you.

“How are we supposed to be security without any weapons? That literally makes zero sense.”

“Use your words. Pretend this is the UK and your sister is the queen and you don’t have any guns.”

“So then do we get that little bat thing?” Harrison perked up.

“No FUCKING WEAPONS!”

“Ok, ok… geez…” Harrison laughed.

“Fine… we’ll just throw Katie out with our bare hands…” Elliot said to Harrison… the two of them pretended to toss kids out.

“Listen guys… please behave. This is your sister’s day. Don’t mess it up. Be nice. No weapons. Best behavior,” you stressed.

“Pffftt… Bev needed security and instead she got the freaking Fun Police,” Elliot grinned.

Harrison cracked up. You had to laugh too. They were good kids. They were also really fucking funny.

“Mom’s the Fun Police! She’s stopping fun in its tracks! No fun stands a chance when mom’s on duty!”

“I’m not the Fun Police… I’m preemptively stopping assault charges…”

“Woohoo-woohoo-woohoo,” Elliot said mimicking a siren… “HERE COMES THE FUN POLICE.”

The two boys took off laughing and scheming. Elliot with his tie and shades and Harrison wearing a hat and plastic badge. They had their walkie talkies and the guest list you had handed them.

You sighed, then out loud whispered, “God I hope Katie doesn’t show up… this Fun Police officer doesn’t have a contingency plan for that.”

Twenty minutes before the party started you left to pick up Beverly’s good friend. None of the kids had arrived. You were nervous for Beverly… what if no one showed up? But by the time you got back with your daughter’s friend the usually empty parking lot next to the church was filled with unfamiliar cars.

The church basement was absolutely rocking when you walked in. There were kids running and screaming, kids tossing balloons around, parents talking to one another in little groups. You ran around introducing yourself, immediately forgetting names (you were terrible with names), asking if anyone needed anything.

You got plates and napkins for hungry kids. You doled out sharpies for putting names on cups, you played referree for games, DJ for entertainment and as David promised: Papa fucking John when it was time to make the pizzas. You pulled children’s (most likely dirty) hands out of the giant bowl of pizza cheese. You supervised juice pours and “Keepy Uppy” balloon challenges.

As the party continued the activity level climbed… fueled by sugar, their peers, and a huge empty space practically designed for mass lunacy. There was yelling, running, and pure pandemonium. K-Pop Demon Hunters blared in the background. Balloons popped, cheeseballs were spilled along with juice and a plate of mini pizzas. Then came the pinata… blindfolded kids lined up taking turns swinging a metal tipped pole, while the unmasked spectators surged forward in hopes of scoring some candy. With each swing you and David would yell for all the kids to move back and after the swing they’d all creep back in.

On Elliot’s third round up (you made the pinata a little too well) he tore a hole through the pinata’s base and immediately swung for round two nearly decapitating a group of little kids with the pole as you and David screamed for him to stop swinging and for the kids to wait to grab the candy. Later on you and David both decided that you needed a better organized piñatas routine… this one came a little too close to human piñatas.

After Happy Birthday was sung and cupcakes were passed out Beverly opened her presents. It was getting closer to the end of the party and pickup time for any kids who had been dropped off. You could tell that your daughter’s social battery was draining quickly now. Much like you she could only take so much chaos before she’d begin to crawl back into her own little world. The crazyiness of all the kids and the noise and the sugar was a bit much. She was not the rowdy type. At just about three o’clock when all the kids were running in circles she grabbed her presents and some of the new art supplies she was given and went to a far corner of the basement to start drawing by herself.

She was completely content coloring on watercolor paper while the other kids screamed and skipped and jumped and tossed balloons through the air. If two pictures had been taken at the same time… one of her sitting coloring, and one of all the other kids, you’d have never guessed that the pictures were taken at the same place.

When three o’clock came, one by one the parents gathered their kids, thanked you for the invite, and made their way to the doors. Beverly handed out ‘goody bags’ and thanked everyone for coming. You brought her friend home and when you returned everyone, except for grandma was gone.

“Did you guys have fun?” You asked the kids.

“Yeah but that sucks that Katie didn’t come…” Elliot said.

“We wanted to ‘show her the door.’” Harrison laughed.

“Guys… stop it.”

“I had fun,” Beverly said, “and also I know why parties are only two hours…”

You looked around the room at the scattered cheese balls and empty cups and plates and the popped balloons and the ripped apart pinata and the spilled cup of juice you found in the corner behind a plant… it was a great party. A success by all accounts, even if the boys didn’t get to personally escort any party crashers from the location… and also just like Beverly was… you were also really glad it was three o’clock.

Thought these were so fun so I’m sharing!

Top row: I found cute K-Pop Ramen label templates then did some editing to make these work for our needs. The bottom left were made for the tops of the noodle cups. We ended up affixing these to ramen containers and handing them out as favors and prizes. The kids loved them.

Bottom middle: I never wound up taking pictures of the invitations we made up but the above are the inspiration I used to create the invite below. We had the backs printed with all of the party details and I found similar lanyards. Beverly handed them out to all her classmates. They were a big hit. Bottom right: We made up a bunch of signs to hang around the church… most of them were directional, leading people up to the (unfinished) half bath. We wound up keeping them up for a while because grandma kept getting disoriented. After two days we were able to take down the arrows and signs!

After the party and grandma left the following weekend we finally started moving down into the ‘family quarters.’ We had originally intended to build out several rooms within the space but honestly love the open floor plan that we’re rethinking that and toying with the idea of having the boys’ bedroom in a different part of the basement.

We all love this space.

We currently have a dining area and living room area and are working on setting up an indoor garden (hasn’t been too successful yet on account of a gnat infestation in the soil). We also plan on having a little lounge area for reading and entertaining guests.

This is currently one of my favorite spaces in the church. While it’s far from done… it looks incredible already. Unfortunately pictures don’t quite do it justice but the space is stunning.

It’s strange to me because I am continually being asked by internet strangers if the place is haunted or has creepy vibes. Now while I find the old boiler room creepy af… because it’s a platform above a dirt floor that opens up to a pitch dark crawl space and that’s a big ‘no’ for me… this church is just about the furthest thing from creepy.

I’m not a religious person, I consider myself agnostic / atheist but there is an overwhelming feeling here… a good feeling… a vibe if you will that I can’t quite explain. The energy is palpable in the best sort of way. Even my mother felt it when she was here.

Since the first day I saw this place there was this draw… this inexplicable feeling that I had to be here. David felt the same: that this is where we needed to be. The feeling was strong enough in fact that we bought this place sight unseen and moved 1200 miles from home to quell the itch. We firmly believe… and I know this sounds nuts, that the church picked us. That we were chosen and that it is our responsibility to care for her. I know… crazy talk.

The church doesn’t feel like a building, rather it feels like a living, breathing entity in and of itself. I believe that she wants us here, that she’s caring for us and keeping us safe. I also believe that she did not want the previous owners here. They had some crazy renovations planned… and while they would have been spectacularly beautiful, they would have turned this 100% into a private home while completely changing the general asthetic and layout. And I think that the church didn’t want that.

Yes this is our home… for now. But we see this as something much bigger than ourselves: literally and figuratively. Our names are currently the last on a long roster of former owners and I would be fooling myself if I thought for one second that we were anything more than a chapter in her glorious tale… therefore as much as she is technically ours… she doesn’t quite fully belong to us. I have zero intention of using her for religious purposes (see above statement) but I do believe that she is supposed to be a community space regardless of who owns her.

And that’s why I think she chased the last owners out. I’m told that they came in one night with nothing but mattresses and left with their mattresses the very next day. Were they ambushed by a swarm of bats? Were the bees too much? Did they hear the squirrels in the attic? I don’t know… I wish I did, but I imagine that the church got wind of the giant ramp they planned on putting in and the plans to divvy up the sanctuary and turn the belfry into an office and the church said, “NOPE,” then sent an army of bats to scare them out. I’m probably being dramatic here but I swear that this place chooses who and what happens to her… and she chose us. We don’t take that responsibility lightly.

Everything we do here is done with preservation and the original character and flow in mind. Everything we do here is centered around not only our family, but the entire town. We can’t wait to host parties and Christmas events and markets in the sanctuary… to hear and see the space filled with happy people gathering with their friends and family… just as the space (minus the religious aspect) was always intended to be used.

A few months ago I needed a specific hook to finish up a project I was working on. I knew I had it but I could not find the thing. I looked EVERYWHERE. And I mean everywhere. I checked in boxes, on tables, in piles of half unpacked clutter. I searched desks and jars and window ledges. NOTHING. I looked for a good hour. No lie, no exaggeration. Could not find this hook. I was standing in the sanctuary trying to figure out where to look next when I looked up at where the old choir (now our bedroom) used to open to the sanctuary and out loud said, “Hey there… I’m looking for this hook… I know it’s in here somewhere… and I’m trying to help you, I’m putting you back together… can you help me?”

I waited for a minute… just staring up at the grand oak ceiling 23’ above my head, took a deep breath then walked over to my tool bag… the same bag I had checked several times, and there sitting right on the top of the bag was the hook I had been looking for.

I looked back up at the ceiling with the hook in my hand and I smiled and said, “Thank you,” and again I don’t know how to say this without sounding nuts but I swear the church smiled. Right… I get it… I know… take my meds… but really… I felt this feeling of contentment, of happiness, of gratitude radiating from the walls to me and back. It was an otherworldly feeling. Truly.

Sometimes when I’m alone I run my hands along the intricate wood trim or railings and I think of all the people who have come here before me. I think of the men that built this place and their wives who baked bread and packed their lunches. I think about the congregation that banded together to save their church when funds were non existent. I think about the church who later had a mortgage burning ceremony when they paid off the loan in its entirety. I think about all the people who left their initials carved into the brick… I imagine kids waiting to get into the Sunday service hastily scratching into the walls before they were caught. I’ll never remove those marks.

I like to think that 100 years from now there will be another woman… hopefully an artist… who does the same as I do now. I picture her bending down to run her fingers over the original oak floor we refinished… or her painting in the beautiful basement space we made habitable… I wonder if she’ll think about us, a footnote in this building’s history. There’s something beautiful about being part of this story and I am so thankful for our chapter here.

Where our story ends and the next one begins is yet to be seen… but at some point when we walk out the beautiful entryway of this incredible building for the last time, I’ll run my hands over the banisters and the trim and the finished floors and I’ll thank her for the opportunity of a lifetime. I’ll thank her for letting me be a part of her history knowing that we left her better than when we first walked in… and that’s a chapter I’m so proud to have written.

Before we leave though… I may just ask her to help me find several duffle bags of unmarked 100 dollar bills… maybe like the hook, she’ll provide again.