It’s nearly midnight and I’m propped up in bed, trying to wind down and go to sleep after a — get ready for it — nearly 17 hour work day today.  I’m tired and hungry which begs the following question: how can a girl be in charge of a dinner reception for 1,600 people and yet not actually end up eating dinner herself?  Ironic, no?

As I was driving home from the event tonight, I started thinking about how, when I was in third grade, I planned my first party.  It was a surprise party for my teacher and I got all the other kids in the class involved, assigning certain items to each of them — Molly, you bring the chips; Mark, you bring the cookies.  I even — again, get ready for it — called a local pizza place and placed an order for pizzas to be delivered to the school. Third grade, y’all.  THIRD GRADE.

And so there I was tonight, sitting at a red light thinking about what the third grade version of myself would think if she knew that she would get to plan much bigger parties and events by the time she was 25.  I was still waiting for the light to turn green when I came up with an answer.

I think she’d giggle.