This movie premiere was a star-studded event of celebrity proportions, complete with velvet ropes to cordon off the entry path and keep the paparazzi and autograph seekers at bay. The leading ladies arrived at the affair chauffeured by their private drivers, all dolled up in their most glamorous gowns. As they strolled their way down the red carpet, they noted the stars bearing the names of each attendee, in their own Hollywood Walk of Fame. At the door, a full size movie poster announced the private screening of Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

After all the movie stars had made their grand entrance, frenzied fans (a.k.a. Mom and Dad) demanded group photo ops on the red carpet. The dazzling ingenues radiated charm and vogued for the camera like pros. Then the girls settled in for the movie in a decked out, high tech, private home theater that is the spitting image of romantically grand but intimate theaters of the past, from the days before multiplexes ruled the motion picture experience. Meanwhile, the concession stand worked overtime to churn out enough popcorn and drinks to satisfy the demands of 13 hungry moviegoers. And proving that celebrities are no different from the rest of us, there was, like at any public function, a line for the ladies room.

Special Note: The academy would like to thank a pair of very brave grandparents for donating the use of their home for the gala festivities, and also for having the foresight to dream their unused “bonus room” into said private theater—complete with reclining theater seats, wall sconce light fixtures, 110-inch movie screen framed by velvet drapes and a fringed valance, and special rope lighting to illuminate the steps in the dark.

Following the movie, it was time for presentation of the “Maia Awards,” as voted on by anonymous movie critics (a.k.a. Maia) ahead of time. Awards were presented in the following categories, accompanied by small Oscar® look-alike statues, with an acceptance speech or two thrown in:

• Best Comedic Actress
• Best Dramatic Actress
• Best Dressed for the Red Carpet
• Best Hollywood Smile
• Best Red Carpet Walk
• Most Glamorous Hairstyle
• Most Likely to Enter a Magical Wardrobe
• Most Likely to Save Narnia
• Most Likely to Star in a Disney Movie
• Most Photographed by Paparazzi
• Most Sparkling Personality

And a few Honorable Mentions for the younger friends and relatives in attendance:

• Best Performance as a Little Brother
• Best Performance as a Little Sister
• Excellence in Adorableness
• Excellence in Cuteness

The entire group then retreated downstairs for the “after party,” consisting of presents, cake, a little dancing, and much noise.

By all counts, the party was a success. And the most important critic of all, a certain nine-year-old birthday girl, raves: “It was the best party in the history of parties!” It’s a good thing she’s old enough to remember it, because although this exhausted Mom had extreme fun planning this one, I do believe we’ve reached the pinnacle of over-the-top birthday party themes and are now very well stocked in all things Webkins, Hannah Montana, and High School Musical. Next year we’ll be downscaling the pomp and opting for a good old-fashioned slumber party instead. Where, I am sure, no one will actually sleep.

Really, who DOESN’T turn their living room into an invitation-only dance club for their daughter’s eighth birthday?

Those lucky enough to pass muster with the bouncer (dad) and bearing the appropriate cover charge (a birthday gift in fanciful wrapping) gained exclusive admittance into the newly monikered “Club Maia.” These privileged entrants were so acknowledged with a “Girls Rule” hand stamp, to distinguish them from any uninvited riffraff—like three-year-old brothers—who might have the audacity to sneak in. They then made their way to the first stop, the beauty station, to be decked out with stick-on body jewelry and glitter hairspray. The second stop on the dance party circuit was the photo station, for a photo op with the dimpled birthday girl herself. Each girl had her picture professionally snapped with Maia against a tasseled purple backdrop, rimmed with rope lighting. At least it looked like professional photography, with the camera mounted on a tripod and all.

The bouncer, ever alert, checked his headset throughout the afternoon for news of possible disturbances to quell. To his great disappointment, there were none. The guests respectfully honored the “staff only” signs designating backstage areas deemed off limits to them, and no celebrity catfights erupted between girls soused on strawberry-kiwi flavored Capri Sun. But there was no time to lament the limited need for ejecting troublemakers from rowdy scenes of commotion, because the bouncer had a second job. He doubled as the DJ, spinning tunes from a playlist populated exclusively by Disney Channel and American Idol artists, while the guest of honor demonstrated that her years of dance training have been fruitful as she led the choreography on the dance floor.

Meanwhile, the club manager/photographer (mom) rushed to develop the prints of the arrival fan photo shoots, because this party was about more than just Hip Hop and Hilary Duff and Clay Aiken. The guests needed to have a souvenir of the experience, so they adjourned to the neighboring art studio (the back porch) for instruction in making their own personalized magnet picture frames. But what good is a frame without a picture to put in it? As luck would have it, in addition to an art studio, this amazing multi-functional dance club also boasts an in-house darkroom. Otherwise known as the inkjet photo printer.

Following the dancing and crafts and the requisite cake and presents, the guests chose to chill in the private VIP Lounge (a.k.a. Maia’s bedroom) while awaiting their chauffeurs to transport them home. Access to the lounge was via a new beaded curtain veiling the doorway. Probably to keep out paparazzi like me.

I think the party was a hit. How will we ever top this next year?

Anyone need investment advice? I only charge a small commission.

Oh wait, is there a football game today? Rats. Sounds like a good excuse to me for a marathon of sappy and women-in jeopardy Lifetime movies. Alas, that’s not to be as hubby will be glued to the tube. But no need to fear for my boredom this evening, dear readers. I have a super top secret plan for extricating myself from the role of captive audience. I’ll be out of the house altogether, away from the pressure to watch against my will.

I just have one request. Will someone please tell me if the commercials were any good?

I only wanted to know why the basketball players kept touching the bottoms of their shoes.

Maybe I asked rather too loudly, because I immediately sensed everyone within earshot collectively whip around and gape at me in all my appalling ignorance. You’d have thought I had just blasphemously lauded the competition. I suppose I should have known that in an area of the country where people live and breathe high school sports, ignorance is blasphemy.

Apparently, it’s common knowledge that players wipe their sweat on the bottoms of their shoes for better traction.

C’mon, surely I’m not the only one who didn’t know that??? 

Note to my male readers: Unless you have a burning desire to read about shopping and perfume and makeup and the color lavender, you might just want to stop here. I’ll forgive you for not reading on. You’ve been warned.

Okay, now that we’ve rid ourselves of those who would roll their eyes at such talk, let me speak candidly about my shopping week. On the plus side, I have beefed up the "skinny" wardrobe a little, with the help of my 25-year-old sister who is much more in tune with current styles than I am. She told my husband she was turning me into a "hot mom." I don’t know about that, but I did buy a couple of cute tops that I never would have looked twice at if she hadn’t been with me.

I’ve also fallen in l-o-v-e with a pricey perfume that I just might have to invest in. That’s saying a lot because I’m usually not much of a perfume person. While there are some I like, most don’t work on me. They are either too heavy or too dramatic or too powdery or too sickly sweet. I tend to stick more with inexpensive scented lotions and such. But today, I sampled a fragrance on a recommendation that it is similar to my favorite Bath & Body Works lotion. Every time I catch a whiff I keep asking myself, "What is that lovely smell?" Then I remember. It’s me! I smell just like the freshest cut flowers and I love it. Even as I am typing this, I keep sniffing my wrists because I smell so darn good!

On the downside of my shopping extravaganza, I was held hostage at the Clinique counter in the department store this afternoon. As with fragrances, I’m not a big cosmetics person. I HATE to feel heavily made up. I much prefer to keep my makeup as simple and natural as possible. But every once in a while when I have too much time on my hands, I get to thinking that it’s time to try something new. I can’t help it. I just get antsy that way sometimes. So I subjected myself to a "professional" makeover during a special makeover event currently in progress. Big mistake. The woman knew nothing about color. First she used a foundation that was way too dark. Then she kept asking me what colors I usually wear in various cosmetic products. But I wanted HER to tell ME what colors would complement my skin tone and the clothes I wear. I didn’t quite see the point in wasting an hour of my time to get made up the same as I would do it myself with products I already have at home. Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of trying to make a sale? Because why would I buy things that are essentially the same as what I already have? Except when I let her choose, everything she chose was either too dark or too light. So much for being a color "expert." I came home and immediately washed it all off. Despite the clownish makeover, I did manage to leave with a couple of new products, which I then reapplied, but the way I like it.

Last but not least, we’ve been examining paint swatches in every shade of pink and purple known to man, and have finally selected the perfect lavender to paint Maia’s room. It’s a long overdue step in a slowly evolving room makeover. She’s ecstatic, because we’ve been promising to do it for a year. If SHE’S lucky, we’ll buy the paint and get it done this weekend. If WE’RE lucky, the paint on the wall will look the same as the color on the swatch. That’s all I’m going to say about that, because anyone who’s ever tried to pick a paint color from a swatch knows exactly what I mean. Or maybe it’s just me. Sometimes we hit it dead on, but sometimes we have to go back to the drawing board. When we painted Noah’s room, for instance, what looked blue on the swatch was purple on the wall. On the second try, though, we got the perfect blue.

So there you have the highlights of my post-Christmas week, wherein I have immersed myself in all things girly.