Let me start of by saying I am trying not to be a big, fat hypocrite. I play the birthday party game. You can call it guilt. Mommy works guilt, you have issues and they are my fault guilt, or my favorite, Mommy and Daddy went to Paris on your birthday so we gave you a great big Little Gym party the weekend before, guilt. But I have done birthday parties. I didn’t have to play the birthday game this year because we moved, so each kid got a special trip to the bakery and picked out their own cupcake. (No, you thought I made the cake.) Birthdays are all about the mommy, at least until the child is ten. This is like the Halloween costume competition. What can she put together to impress the other mommies and how quickly can she make her little darling happy.
Frances, being the first child, has had three. She had a family party when she turned one and even my grandparents drove from Winston-Salem to be there. The first birthday of the first child is more of a “High five! We did it!” kind of party. The second year she had another family party, only it was a tad bit smaller as I was very pregnant with Kenneth. Year three was at the Little Gym three days before Kevin and I went to Paris ALONE. Year four was the best. We had a petting zoo in the front yard of our Pittsburgh house and people on the street were stopping to ask how much it cost to participate. I could have charged strangers five bucks a piece and made a profit.
On the other hand, Kenneth, having just turned three, has not really had a birthday party yet. We had his grandparents over for his first birthday, and for his second birthday he went to the new and improved dinosaur exhibit that had just opened in Pittsburgh. We had just moved here for his third, so I didn’t know the other moms well enough to have a party for him. He had a lot of fun playing with his train set and eating his Spiderman cupcake with his brother and sister.
Lowell hasn’t had a birthday yet, so we will see what happens. I will say that it is kind of cool to have one baby with a summer birthday, which means I get to plan a pool party eventually.
Now, my name is not Oprah and I don’t have a book club, but if you have time to put down your Twilight books, pick up one by Jennifer Weiner. All of her books make me laugh out loud, and if I am laughing, you know she is funny. If you are in toddler or preschool mommy mode, the one to read is Goodnight Nobody. The main character is a woman named Kate who is a stay at home mom to her three children in a suburb in Connecticut where all the other mommies are posh and put together. She describes a birthday party experience in her town. Now, first, here is her birthday party for her twins:
“Everybody seemed to have a good time, although I did notice that the other Upchurch mothers were keeping their kids away from the Cheez Doodles as if they were severed fingers and asking lots of questions about whether there were artificial dyes in the punch. I saw a few kids staring at our back yard asking where the pony rides were, or when the men were coming to set up the bouncy castle. I figured they were kidding. They weren’t (p.21, Weiner).”
She and her husband take all of their kids to another child’s party two weeks later, and it looks like this:
“It was held at the Upchurch Inn, and it featured a catered spread with a smoked fish buffet, a sushi chef, and a life-sized ice sculpture of the birthday boy. …. The father, a sports agent, had set up a half-sized basketball court in the parking lot and had somehow prevailed upon the entire starting lineup of the Knicks to make the trip to the suburbs and play H-O-R-S-E with the party guests. And lose (p.21, Weiner)."
I read this book four years ago when I was pregnant with Kenneth. Kevin was at Duke and there he was going to stay. I thought this Connecticut lifestyle was a joke when I read her words sitting on my front porch in Fuquay-Varina North Carolina. Five years later I am indeed living in Connecticut and my son came home with a party favor bag filled with real gourmet candy and a ten dollar gift card to the book store. Yeah, Pagie will be kicking it up a notch in the birthday party department.
This year I have decided that, at least the older two, will have a birthday party. The planned babies both have fall birthdays. So Frances is going to have some kind of Halloween theme party. I don’t think anyone in Connecticut is going to have a problem with this. Kenneth is November 20th. Should I plan a Thanksgiving party? Come dressed as a pilgrim or a Native American? We can run around the backyard chasing each other with muskets and hatchets, like that scene in the Adams Family with a pre-indie film career Cristina Ricci. Then they can sit down to turkey and sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie that I am going to have to order from the gourmet whole foods shop (I know you didn’t think I was going to make it.) Then they can each make a take home cornucopia. Hey, this is New England after all.
Birthday parties have also got a bit of paranoia about them. Gymnastics parties and those parties at those blowup and jump places must have a signed waiver before your child can participate. You can find all kinds of news reports online about freak accidents at birthday parties. Some kid somewhere choked on the cake, tripped over the coffee table looking for the donkey to pin the tail on, and then got hit in the eye with a piece of candy flying through the air when the piñata was smashed. Alfred Hitchcock played that up. The first time I saw The Birds was actually at Angela Goode’s birthday slumber party. All those little kids were attacked by birds amongst the cake, ice-cream, and presents. Fortunately or unfortunately depending on how you view it, old Alfred made it look incredibly real and possible. The memory of that would keep me from sending my kids to a birthday party for maybe fifteen minutes, until I realized I would have to come up with something else to entertain them with for the rest of the afternoon. A little bird peck or my free time, which one is more important?
The traditional birthday party diet and activities are changing too. It used to just be cake and ice-cream. Now you have a fight over who is on the cake. We have had Spiderman, Shrek, and the Wiggles to date. I have a feeling Diego will be making an appearance soon. You also have to put out all kinds of snacks and make sure they are healthier than Doritos and M&Ms. And the poor piñata! As a Spanish teacher, I can say this. The piñata used to be made of clay. You are blindfolded, given the stick, and then turned THREE times before you get to walk toward where you think the piñata is and start whacking. Then candy and clay pieces would go flying through the air. Later the clay was replaced with papier-mâché and I have no complaints about that. Now they make happy non-violent piñatas where everyone pulls a string and the candy falls out. Read my mind on that one.
There are certain stores that will allow a child to register for birthday presents. I don’t think so. My kids would just go through the store and throw everything in the “wish basket.” No. We will not be registering for a party. Ever. In the ‘80s when I was the one going to all the birthday parties, it was cool to get stationary, lots and lots of stationary with cute little pens, erasers, and stickers. Who was I writing to on all of this stationary? I did go to camp for four weeks every summer, but that was it. Did we pass notes on stationary? We must have. And you had to write it with the matching pen and seal it with a sticker. What has taken the place of the staionary? Kenneth picked out a Polly Pocket last time we went for a gift. I don’t know if this is tacky or not, but I always include the gift receipt. Another memory I shouldn’t have is from the book, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, when Fudge got a third copy of a book he already had and threw it across the room and made the kid cry. So, to avoid a tantrum and hurt feelings, the gift receipt is taped right there for the other mom to see. Other than that, remember to include a set of batteries if they aren’t included in the gift.
I like the Spanish traditions when it comes to birthday parties. The whole family and all the friends and neighbors are packed in the apartment flat or the country house compound. Everyone is eating, drinking, singing, and watching soccer. The kids are running around crazy, and it goes all night long.
I’ll end this with party “themes.” Certain things are sacred unless you do them correctly. We are not having a Harry Potter party ever. I will just get mad. If she asks for a princess party, we are not going to do it Disney Style, but Brothers Grimm. And if Kenneth wants pirates, Frances has an awesome book my brother bought her all about the female pirates, Booty, so she can be included too. One request: please, Frances, please don’t want a party at the beauty parlor. It goes against everything mommy stands for.
How about a party at Cup-A-Joe on Hillsborough Street? Everyone can play cards, write a poem to read on the open mic, and they get to take home ½ pound of Dave’s best Colombian as their party favor. I have a feeling it might just be us and the Cowans. Maybe Clyda will let Tate and Mia come too.
No comments:
Post a Comment