Today, Zahri of St. Paul turns 5.

Her mother, Anne Schmiege, weeks ago had dreamed up a party theme built around “Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir,” one of her kid’s favorite animated shows.

Family, friends and neighbors would have congregated on March 22 for the elaborate bash — one in an epic string of such themed shindigs Schmiege loves to throw as she single-handedly raises Zahri and her other daughter, Paris, 8.

Those plans were laid waste by the coronavirus and the social distancing it has spawned.

“When things started closing down, I saw the handwriting on the wall,” said Schmiege, who operates a family and workers-compensation law practice in New Richmond, Wis., but lives in St. Paul’s Summit University neighborhood.

Disheartened but undaunted, Schmiege devised an alternative: a “drive-by” birthday party. She went on Facebook to request that everyone go past the house in their vehicles while honking horns and waving signs or balloons.

It’s an idea that has taken hold around the country in recent weeks as kids have been robbed of their traditional birthday parties. Googling “drive-by birthday” or “birthday parade” yields dozens of results.

In Hastings, a Facebook group has sprung up “to help organize neighborhood birthday parades for those of all ages who are stuck at home for their birthdays during the COVID-19 outbreak.”

Schmiege’s party had originally been scheduled for today, but then the pandemic threw her another curveball: She worried that the event would be in violation of Gov. Tim Walz’s shelter-in-place order, which went into effect at 11:59 p.m. on Friday.

So, scrambling yet again, she rescheduled the drive-by birthday for Friday afternoon.

But … would anyone come?

Under normal circumstances, “when you schedule something, maybe half of the people are able to make it,” Schmiege said. “And if you reschedule, hardly anyone will come.”

But these are hardly normal circumstances.

“No one has plans” nowadays, and they are “desperate to get outside and do something social, to contribute to make someone happy,” the mom said. “So there was a lot of interest.”

About 16 groups of people participated, all told. Most were in their vehicles, as planned. A few clusters of neighbors strolled over to wish Zahri a happy birthday while keeping a safe distance.

One group drove 90 minutes round-trip for the occasion. Schmiege’s folks showed, “which was great, but also kind of sad because I couldn’t get close to them and hug them,” she said.

Some visitors held out gifts on sticks for Schmiege to grab and wipe down with disinfectant.

Even Facebook near-strangers came out, she marveled.

Schmiege had initially planned for participants to all arrive at the same time in a parade-like convoy for maximum impact, but she began to fret that the resulting congestion would be frowned upon by the authorities and nearby residents.

So she spread out the event over the span of one hour so every group could pause for a bit to chat.

Zahri, resplendent in Ladybug superheroine tights and mask while frolicking with Paris on the sidewalk and admiring her birthday cake, seemed oblivious to the unusual circumstances.

“For her, it was just another party,” Schmiege said.