The amazing Mickey Mouse Cake arrived just before lunch. (Thanks to Roxy’s Sweet Treats for the delicious chocolate raspberry delectable.)

And with that whirlwind, the party prep began. The birthday boys were shuttled off to nap before their big debut. The bounce house was inflated in the backyard (because it’s apparently the law that all small child parties have one).

Jon and Papa offered to relieve me of my own personal nightmare and tackled Costco for foodstuffs. (Don’t worry, I’ll never give up my card.)

Jon: So, burgers…what else are we serving?
Me: I ordered a cake.
Jon: Right. But what about the rest of the food?
Me: Oh, of course. I’m baking vanilla mouse ear cupcakes and s’mores.
Jon:…
Me: Priorities.

<Upon their return>

Jon: We have a lot of alcohol. I got two types of beer.
Me: What about people who don’t drink beer?
Papa: I got wine.
Jon: I got a case of Mikes. And juice for the kids.
Me: Fair enough. We’re expecting 25 small peeps under the age of four.

And at 3:30 p.m. on the dot, the masses descended upon our backyard (with the bounce house).

There were sandwiches, burgers, hot dogs (hot diggity dog!). Chips, salsa, fruit and veggies. Wine, water, beer and juice. It was a right proper barbeque. (Granted, now celebrated Memorial Day rather than the initial vision of back-to-school birthday parties.)

But my normally gregarious and energetic Destroy wouldn’t go outside. He was prowling around the kitchen alone. I was seriously suspect that he was stalking the cupcakes. (This may have had something to do with our repeated banter of, “Mommy can I have one? No, not yet” played ad nauseum for 30 minutes before the party started.)

“There’s too many people here,” he murmured, shirking behind his cockeyed Mickey ears hat.

“He’s just like his mother,” smirked GrammaJ. “He needs to case out the joint before making any sudden moves.”

I asked him what was wrong. Wasn’t he excited to have his party?

“Mommy,” he explained. “All my friends came to my house. And Gramma and Papa came to my party. And I jumped in the bounce house with Papa.

“But then Spiderman turned around and looked at the bounce house. And then Batman turned around and he had to face the fence cause he’s scary. But then Search got them out so I had to go inside.”

As it turns out – he was terrified of the Spiderman balloon patrolling the bounce house perimeter.

Admit it. You wouldn’t go near this treadmill either.

Once it was secured, he came out of his shell – bouncing up a storm and socializing with all his admirers in attendance. (Also, we brought out the cupcakes.)

By the end of the evening the big birthday boys were stumbling around in a sugar-high, sleep-deprived stupor of delight. We dunked them in the bathtub – but I doubt that was even noticed. Twelve more renditions of the Best Word Book Ever and Search and Destroy were dead to the world before Gramma got to the bottom of the stairs.

Presents would have to wait until morning.

Monday morning came and I could still hear the sounds of snores in rhythmic harmony emanating from the Calvin and Hobbes forest nursery. So in the silence of the morning, I snuck downstairs to decompress with a quiet cup of coffee. When what should suddenly appear in my path?

Spiderman. HOLY $#!%! BACK FOUL DEMON! I now completely empathize with Destroy’s reluctance to be within 300 yards of such radioactive helium.

If you’re wondering about the success/energy draining magic of birthdaypartypalooza, the terrific toddling twosome (now age 3) slept until 9:30 a.m. Bedtime collapse was at 8 p.m.

I had visions of a lazy morning watching my sons play with their grandparents and new toys – perhaps a late afternoon holiday bike ride (on brand new birthday bikes).

But, further proving my parents still have not forgiven me for my…er, um, adventurous… childhood, Gramma and Papa proudly presented the boys a Toddler Music Band kit.

Well played, Mom. Well played.