The Party I Didn't Choose

The Party I Didn’t Choose

by Candy Tedford

I didn’t have a choice.

It was happening with or without me.

Turning ten, I mean.

People kept saying, “Double digits! That’s so exciting!” and “You’re practically a pre-teen now!” as if I’d just won some sparkly award. But I didn’t feel excited. I felt…nine. Perfectly, completely nine.

Nine-year-olds don’t have to do fractions.

Nine-year-olds can still eat dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.

Nine-year-olds don’t get blamed for stuff like cake disasters.

Ten? Ten sounded suspiciously like trouble.

Mom had this very big plan. A huge party in the backyard with streamers, balloons, a magician named Magic Marvin (who also apparently dabbled in balloon animals), and a double-layer chocolate cake with blue frosting.

“I just want it to be perfect!” she said with her party-planning sparkle eyes.

That’s when it all started.

Party Problem #1: The Decorations

I didn’t have a choice when I accidentally—accidentally—pulled down the box labeled “Party Stuff” from the top shelf. It was heavier than I thought, and everything inside exploded like a birthday bomb.

Streamers floated down like rainbow spaghetti.

Glitter sprayed across the floor like sneezy fairy dust.

And I definitely didn’t mean to step on the “Happy Birthday” banner and rip it in half.

Mom came running in.

“I was going to hang that in the tree!”

“I didn’t have a choice,” I mumbled, holding up the streamer that had wrapped around my ankle like a ribbon snake.

Party Problem #2: The Balloons

Okay, this one might have been a little bit my fault.

But not totally!

Mom said, “Just don’t touch the balloons.”

So I only bounced one. Just one. But the others… they were all watching. Tempting me. Floating around like happy bubble aliens. And when I picked up the party sword from last year’s pirate theme—well—it just happened.

POP.

POP POP.

POP POP POP.

I stood there with a rubber sword and confetti balloon guts all over the grass.

“I didn’t have a choice,” I told the dog. She didn’t believe me either.

Party Problem #3: The Cake

Magic Marvin had just finished making a balloon poodle that looked more like a snake with legs when Mom whispered, “Go get the cake from the fridge.”

You know that feeling when you’re carrying something really, really important, and you walk too slow because you’re scared to go fast, but then your arms start to shake?

Yeah. That.

Halfway through the kitchen, I tripped over my own sock (which I’m 80% sure was the dog’s fault) and that cake flew like a blue frosted UFO right onto the floor.

“NOOOOOOOO!” screamed my little cousin.

“CAKE DOWN!” yelled Uncle Dan.

“I didn’t have a choice!” I said, my fingers covered in frosting and failure.

Party Problem #4: The Guests

There were too many people. Mom had invited the whole class, the neighbors, and even Mrs. Turnbull who smells like cheese and doesn’t like kids.

I panicked.

I found the guest list in Mom’s purse and… I might’ve uninvited everyone. Not on purpose! Well, not exactly. I just… wrote “party canceled due to mysterious fog” on sticky notes and handed them out at school like it was my job.

By 2 p.m., it was just me, my dog, Magic Marvin, and a balloon poodle with no future.

Mom sat on the back porch with her head in her hands.

“Why would you do that?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” I said again, even though that one was a stretch.

Okay… maybe I did have a little bit of a choice.

But it didn’t feel like one at the time. Everyone was saying things like “It’s going to be the biggest party ever!” and “Everyone’s coming!” and I just wanted to curl into a blanket burrito and read comics.

So I wrote those notes and slipped them into backpacks and coat pockets like a birthday ninja.

One kid told me he was sorry the fog took out our whole backyard.

Another kid said he saw it too, which was kind of weird.

Maybe mysterious fogs are contagious.

The Big Realization

I sat in my room with blue frosting on my pants and a sad party hat on my head.

I didn’t have a choice to turn ten.

I didn’t have a choice when things went wrong.

I didn’t have a choice about the balloon uprising or the cake tragedy.

And I definitely didn’t have a choice about growing up.

But maybe… just maybe… I did have a choice in how I handled it.

Bonus Flashback: Nine Was Perfect

I started thinking about my ninth birthday. Now that was a party.

We had pizza and pin-the-tail-on-the-dinosaur. No balloons, no magicians, and definitely no pressure. I got a remote-control car, which I crashed into the dog’s water bowl ten minutes later. I got chocolate cupcakes with eyeballs on them, and no one cared if they were lopsided.

Grandpa played the banjo and made up a song about how socks disappear in the dryer and turn into spaghetti.

No one cried.

Nothing exploded.

And the dog only ate one party napkin.

See? Nine was perfect. I wanted to go back to nine. I’d even trade all my new markers and stickers to stay there.

But like I said before…

I didn’t have a choice.

The Party Reboot

I took a deep breath and marched back outside.

“Can we have a do-over?” I asked. “Like… a party restart? No magician. No balloons. Just us. And maybe waffles?”

Mom blinked. “Waffles?”

“With sprinkles. And whipped cream. And… chocolate chips.”

“And guests?” she asked.

“Just the ones who didn’t mind the fog.”

She smiled. “We’ve got frozen waffles. And I think I can scrounge up some whipped cream.”

So we had a Waffle Party.

Magic Marvin stayed and made a balloon fork that promptly deflated mid-bite.

The dog wore a party hat like a crown and got syrup in her ear.

And I opened a card from Grandma that said, “Welcome to double digits!” with a drawing of a confused-looking donut.

Uncle Dan brought out whipped cream and shouted, “To the waffle warriors!” like we were going into breakfast battle.

My cousin put gummy worms on hers and called it a swamp stack.

Mom made hers look like a smiley face.

Mine had chocolate chips, rainbow sprinkles, and enough syrup to glue a shoe to the table.

We laughed so hard when the dog sneezed whipped cream across the patio.

Even Magic Marvin cracked a smile—and I’m not sure magicians are allowed to do that during parties.

I still didn’t want to be ten.

I still liked being nine.

But somewhere between the whipped cream and syrup, I laughed. Like, really laughed.

Because even though I didn’t have a choice about the mess…

Even though I didn’t have a choice about being a year older…

I didn’t have a choice but to love my party—even if I ruined it.

And honestly? It was better that way.