If it was mapped out, we couldn’t have done a better job of making a family get-together more of an upside-down, side-splitting mess. We had planned an outside party, but it turned out the weatherman had saved his own butt yet again by saying there was “just a chance” of rain. Ha! – we were stuck indoors for a couple hours.

Four birthdays were being celebrated at the same time. No one but the gift-givers knew what would be unwrapped by the gift receivers. Some earlier conversations might have been a good idea.

Youngest to oldest, one at a time, three remote-control cars were unwrapped by the boys, who all responded with whoops of joy and excitement. The fourth package unveiled a remote-control helicopter, much to the delight of its teenage recipient.

Ed grumbled as his stash of batteries was depleted, but the little kid in him was itching to share a controller!

Keeping watch from the kitchen, Aunt Helen was the smartest one of the bunch as she busily removed all breakable items from the table and edges of the counter.

Aiming to place a family movie into the video slot for some pre-race entertainment, I tossed the three controllers I was holding to Ed, one at a time. Silently, I wished for the good old days of two channels in black-and white with one simple tuning knob on the front; TV remotes and Emilys just don’t get along very well. Actually, anything with more than a couple of buttons has never been on my list of great things mastered.

Aunt Helen looked comfortable with her cup of coffee, sitting at the kitchen table with her feet up on a second chair. The rest of us adults should have been smart enough to follow suit as first one, then another, and finally the third car was activated. “Mayhem” was a good word for the next hour as loop-deloops, crashes, and roll-overs transpired in the living room.

The teenage helicopter pilot was having a few navigation problems, and Ed saw his chance, seizing the controller while trying to hide his “little kid face.”

I have to admit, he didn’t do too bad; pretty soon, the young boys were complaining of the dive-bombing and reckless endangerment to their cars.

During a lull, Aunt Helen made a dash to the bathroom and Ed couldn’t resist. Her mad screech was heard all the way out to the kitchen. The helicopter buzzed out the bathroom door, dangling a foot of toilet paper from its landing gear, and Aunt Helen wasn’t seen for quite a while.

Housecats and cars with batteries didn’t mix well either. My bet was with the car as it chased the angry feline behind the couch. There were loud snarls and hisses; then out came the cat, playing Frisbee with a tire.

Uncle Curt called, saying he was on his way over to join the party and would do the barbecuing. With the rain ending, our little get-together was finally moved outside, and Aunt Helen came out of hiding.

I’m not sure how much Ed had to pay the teenager to borrow his remote control helicopter, but I’m sure it was a pretty penny. His “twinkle” was glowing at about a hundred watts, and we all felt sorry for Uncle Curt before he even arrived.

Turning a plain old hotdog into the world’s greatest smorgasbord, Uncle Curt shined as chief barbecue operator, and no one dared come close until he was ready to serve up his magic.

Enjoying the attention of everyone watching his cooking operation more closely than usual, he took it all in while humming bars of “Happy Birthday,” flipping a wiener with each high note. He ignored the giant bee as it buzzed behind his head and gave a haphazard back-swat with the long-handled spatula.

The bee was persistent and buzzed down around his leg. Taking another swat at the pest, Uncle Curt’s sleeve caught on the grill, tipping half his dogs onto the ground. Cussing and asking for some insect repellent, he didn’t think our laughter was all that funny – especially Ed’s, and his tears along with it while he hid the controller under the picnic table.

When Uncle Curt’s hotdogs were prepared to perfection, Aunt Helen was asked to bring a serving plate as his “Birthday” jingles came to a conclusion. He was confused when she excused herself to crawl under the picnic table, and the bee came back with a vengeance, stinging Uncle Curt in the rump with one of its blades. As he blindly swatted with his spatula and turned circles with more spiels of cussing a mile long, the bumblebee went in for the kill, right up against his nose.

The helicopter and Curt hovered eyeball to eyeball until Uncle Curt’s eyes surrendered and rolled back, and down he went flat out on the ground!

Ed’s eyes cleared up in a hurry as he rushed in to the rescue. Tripping over a buzzing remote-control car, down he went.

In her hurried efforts to get out from under the picnic table, Aunt Helen bumped her head pretty hard, and she went out cold.

Roger Allen, the neighbor who always came to save the day in any situation, happened to be driving by and took out the mailbox as he swerved in to see what had bombed our party. Being a veteran, he took one look at the war zone with a hovering helicopter above the grill and that was all she wrote. One shotgun blast defeated the army of bee for good…