Color Me Bad

I don't know if the confusion is because my husband is French or because he is older than I am, but this whole birthday party planning thing has blown his mind.  The lengths we have gone to to celebrate the birth of these people with their peers in a way fit for a new millennium-born hurts the brain.  I honestly cannot say when all this happened because other than roller skating and bowling parties, there was not much else, unless a trip to McDonald's or the local ice cream parlor was your thing, for a child of the 70s to do to celebrate his or her birthday.  The cake was almost always made at home and looked like all the cakes at that time--lopsided, licked, amateurish (except for one friend whose mother was a cake decorator and her cakes looked like heaven).  The gifts were straight from the Mattel catalog and wrapped with little attention or care.  There was pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, 2 liter Cokes, Sprite, and orange or grape soda, and bowls of junk food to choke a horse.  I recall lots of running around and games like Simon Sez, musical chairs, and too much balloon popping, none helium filled.  Basically, birthday parties were chaos, cost was minimal, sugar was plentiful, and fun was guaranteed to be a bit Lord of Flies meets Super Friends.  It didn't really involve the adults who were there just to keep everyone in the ring.

My husband recalls his birthdays celebrated with family.  A favorite meal, a lovely cake or tarte.  If there were others involved, there was lots of outdoor activity, enjoying nature and its beauty.  Kids wore nice clothes and uncomfortable shoes.  They were quiet, elegant affairs.  Yeah, so...the French do everything in a more sophisticated way.  Whatevs.

Our six year old peanut had us choose between a gambling establishment for littles and tweens, silly games and twee rides, jumping parlors and castles, roller skating (She's a novice and my anxiety can't take her and all her friends falling all over the rink.), and this adorable pottery painting place.  With foresight that we could never have known was brilliant until the moment our wee one's toe was crushed, leaving her unable to participate in physical activities, we opted for pottery painting at Color Me Mine.  We invited all the girls from her class and two other pals who do not go to school with her and pre-ordered the Party Animal package.

The Party Animal package offered a choice of five ceramic animals to paint--a unicorn, a dragon, a kitten, a puppy, and a dolphin.  With the party scheduled for just an hour and a 1/2, I figured painting, cupcakes, singing, balloons, done.  Ten minutes after all the girls were given their animals to paint, the first was finished.  Our staff host, not missing a beat, handed out paper bags to color and design.  These bags would be the packaging for the finished products, the carrying cases for the work that we, my husband and I (probably just I), would deliver once the pieces had been fired and collected.

The Party Animal package was also an apt title for our working performance art piece because once these girls were set free from their own parental confines and rules, they let it loose!  No matter that we were in an establishment with other people trying to get their creativity on painting plates and cups and ceramic tchtotchkes that said LOVE or were shaped like Winnie the Pooh, these animals were here to party!  We served carrots and strawberries and pretzels, had juice boxes and water, and at the end of the fete we all sang "happy birthday" to my daughter standing before a line of mini-cupcakes (vanilla with vanilla frosting) decorated with candles that spelled out "happy birthday." (How apropos.)

The goodie bags I'd put together a few days earlier had fun craft stuffs, stickers, sidewalk chalk, and just one piece of candy (I'm not crazy about sending kids off into the world hopped up on sugary BS but I have no problem searching for grape soda if my oldest says she wants to taste it.  Go figure.  Hypocrisies of parenting.)  Our baby said that her special day, celebrated one month after her actual birthday because of our Spring Break travel, was the best day ever.  She has lots of those.  Best days ever.  My work is done.

...and yet.  It sits funny with me this way of celebrating a birthday.  True, it was my choice to have the party outside of my home, to turn it into an event, to pay someone else to do what I was unable or unwilling to do.  I have had many birthday parties in the house and all of them involved projects.  There was a shoe decorating party, tie-dye t-shirt party, princess party with costumes and crown decorating.  It has been incredibly difficult for me to let go of the reins and let someone else take over and not because I am a control freak (or not only because of that), but because I have a hard time giving myself permission to not be everything at all times to my children.  To everyone really.  When I am tired, when I say I am spent, when I say I can't go on, can't do it, I still do.  When I say no about something, I try to find a way to surprise a yes.  Letting someone else run the party, handle the details and the minutia, put out the fires, and clean up the mess means my role has to change.  It means that I cannot hide in the rush of the activity but have to stand stock in the center of it all and just be.

There are so many parties, birthday and other celebrations that have so much fanfare.  I recall fabulous birthday parties for the classmates of my girls in Barbados where there was swimming and grilling and clowns and music and open bar and balloons and face painting and jumping castles and costume changes and the presentation of the celebrated as king or queen for a day.  It was like a circus or carnival.  And now back in the States, there are trips to all sorts of places set up for kids' enjoyment--skating and jumping and driving and water sports and painting, creating, dressing up.  Parents spare no expense in honoring the arrival of their little ones to the world.  But I miss the chaos of a 70s birthday party, the accidentally marvelous moments as opposed to the orchestrated, manufactured fun.  I miss the innocence and the surprise of celebration, the wonder of it all.

All the girl babies from the party will have a little something to remind them of their time celebrating Virginie's birthday, at least for as long as their parents choose to keep it.  Our girls will add them to the rows of other memorabilia from their childhood thus far and they will rest with the satisfaction that we showed them how much we love them by feting them so marvelously.  But really, the part I like best about the girls' birthdays is when I can recount for them the days they were born.  They love to hear the small details, a super hot day with melting pavement and hours wrapped in blankets in the cold room for Lily and a rainy afternoon when I stared out the picture window of my hospital room knowing she was soon to arrive for Virginie.  They know these parties with so many celebrants will not last much longer.  They have been told that age 10 is our cut off and that we prefer smaller events with just special friends to massive, all out galas.

I'm not crazy about celebrating like that, fearful that using money and gifts and grand events to show how I love them diminishes the greater truth.  I want them to feel honored by how we love one another, to know it no matter what I have to give or don't. I want the truth to be that we love each other, celebrate each other, honor each other, care for each other, and will show it with our feelings, our hearts, and our actions.  I don't want to buy their happiness or let them think they are owed such extravagance at every milestone, achievement, or event.  It can't be about the money.  It's purpose and it's value already threatens our daily existence.  It's about the love.  I can dole that out and sprinkle it everywhere, everyday.  And sometimes it has to be enough even on the special days.  

The painted dolphin and dragon sit on the book shelf in the girls' room.  They love them and had a great time at the party.  Right before bed, Virginie said in the sleepiest voice, "I know you and Papa and Lily love me because you tell me every day.  But also thank you for letting me have this party.  It was the best day ever."  And then I don't feel so bad.


(c)  Copyright 2015.  Repatriated Mama: Back to the Suburban Grind.

Sleeping over

A sleep over used to be the crown jewel in the birthday party court with a bowling party, roller skating party, and ice cream sundae making at ZIPZ, a local ice cream chain, ranking pretty high up there as well.  I believe I went to my first in 4th grade as a nine to ten year old (DOUBLE DIGITS!) celebration.  Sleeping over involved so many things, milestones, and were exceptional events.  Girls got giddy with excitement thinking about staying up late with their girlfriends, eating lots of junk food all at once, usually with pizza for dinner as a starter and rolling quickly downhill to peanut M&Ms and Doritos as the cramming-to-stay-up-past-1 am treat.  There was lots of dancing, shouting, singing, and crib games.  Secrets told under the sleeping bags about boys kissed or wished for, bust-enlarging exercises ("We must!  We must!  We must increase our bust!") though more for play than actually hoping on my part.  Even then I knew that the parents who hosted these parties were gods, better than mere mortals, because no way on Earth my parents were going to have a bunch of wild-assed banshees over at ours mucking up the place and acting a fool.  (We did actually have one sleepover party and my parents/mom handled it for realz.)

This weekend Lily has two sleepovers.  She is seven years old and I forced her to take a nap after gymnastics this afternoon so she would make it to the second without acting like a monkey.  She didn't want to nap, almost burst into tears at the suggestion which is how I knew she needed to take a nap (that and the confession of a 12:13 am lights out).  She moved all over the room, trying to read and rainbow loom, playing with her hair, and trying to make shadow puppets, when I forced her to climb up on the bed next to her sleeping sister (I'll get to that in a minute).  I lay down behind her with a soft, fuzzy blanket over us and squeezed her little body and pet her hair.  She was out in two minutes.  Glad to see that technique from her toddlerhood still works nicely.  It is Saturday afternoon at 3:30 pm and my entire family is napping in preparation for the sleepover that follows the sleepover.

The parents of both of Lily's sleepover pals are good friends, people I trust and know well.  When she leaves me to be with them, I don't give her safety another thought.  I am confident, comfortable, and thankful.  Lily gets to relax a little from Mommy's strict rules and have a little space from her baby sister's crawling up her back.  She gets to feel like a teenager...oh, wait.  Well, she thinks she does.  She feels punk rock and I want her to.

Virginie and her best girl are prepping for a sleepover of their own.  Not quite a sleepover as they are both 4 1/2 years old and I believe that that is just too early for a sleepover. (I was happy to confirm that her pal's mother was completely in agreement and "on principle" could not permit her baby to stay the night and eat whipped crème from the spray can into her mouth...another time.)  They will wear pajamas and get to play and stay up late and lie down in a little bed and watch movies, read bedtime stories and then, later than usual, Mommy will come and pick up her worn out princess and both 4 1/2 year olds will get to sleep in their own beds.  Kind of like a regular play date for these two just later.

Lily went to her first sleepover when she was six years old and I cried almost the entire time.  I did it in silence, not wanting her or her little sister to see that I was just freaked out beyond what was necessary.  I knew my anxiety was getting the best of me, thoughts of kidnappings and hazings weaving through my brain threatening my sleep and  my ability to breathe.  Then I realized that the parents who hosted were as conscientious as I, nervous about having all these wiggly girls in their care, and basically planned to stay up all night dealing with the pre-tween set and their totally bizarre humor and girl power chants.  I love a girl Lord of the Flies, except for the killing at the end.  Love girl power and energy and pride.  Just not sure I am totes ready for it at mine.

Baby steps.  Two 4 1/2 year olds bugging out in their PJ's? Into it.  I am thinking of cool stuff for them to do.  Fort building, coloring, playing with Barbies, Monster Highs, and Little Ponies.  Lily will be off on her own with her best girl and her cool ass parents living it up, feeling that freedom, knowing that she can come home to Mommy who will take care of her and put her to bed by wrapping her legs around her and boa-constricting her to sleep.  What was once the prize of upper elementary school party time is now a common occurrence, a fun escape from home, a break in the crazy cycle of this aggressively structured childhood.  But they can always come home to Mommy after their little adventures and regal me with dirty-haired, unbrushed-teeth, late-night tales and antics that in the retelling are surely (surely?) wilder than they were when they really happened...on run of the mill, rollin' with the homies-sleepover.


(c)  Copyright 2013.  Repatriated Mama: Back to the Suburban Grind.

All tomorrow's parties

My baby turned four years old a few weeks ago.  Because we were prepping and traveling weeks before, revisiting Barbados for Spring Break, I didn't have the chance to plan something properly.  So I took to my senses and realized that if she had a celebration in her classroom and a get together with friends, I could stave her off until I had time to do something right. It is very popular to go all out for children's parties here.  Honestly, it was no easier in Barbados where birthday parties could turn into all day affairs where kids, adults, entire families were invited to eat, drink, and be merry while hopping the day about in a jumping castle, having faces painted, watching magic shows, riding ponies, and crashing bumper cars.  I am all for showing my children new experiences, but I just don't think that level of entertainment is required.

So last weekend at just noon, we held an old school, throw down, shindig right here at the house!  Yes, in our house with decorations that we put up, food that we prepared, and games that I lead.  I hope the kids had a good time.  It sure looked like they did.  I sure did.  Didier and I got up at 8 am and started decorating.  Pink, purple, princess.  Those were the main themes of the day.  All the girls were instructed to arrive in costume, dressed as princesses, knights, or heroes, whatever made them feel special.  I'd at first asked an actress friend to come and help me.  I'd wanted her to lead the games and activities dressed as a princess or fairy godmother or something, but she was unable to make it.  I have that Julie McCoy kind of energy around kids so I figured that I could take the reins on this one and provide a killer, 4 year old's raver.  I so did.

We had Pin the Crown on the Princess, Pin Pascal on Rapunzel, freeze dance, punching balloon games, and a project involving glittery crowns, stickers, and more glitter.  There was fresh fruit, Veggie Snacks, chicken fingers, and goodie bags full of princess paraphernalia (you know, crowns, wands, bracelets, stickers, and one candy Ring Pop), and it was fun!  So much silly fun.  There was no controlled play area with tickets and rules and manufactured excitement.  The girls and one dragon (Oliver) got to be little kids doing what little kids do.  Play, eat, dance, laugh, giggle, run, smile, fall on the floor, freeze.  Then do it all over again.

There is so much pressure on parents,  pressure we put on ourselves to top the last cool thing or to be as impressive as our neighbor who seems to have unlimited access to the latest and greatest.  We are expected to excite, entice, enthrall, and thrill our children to crazed ecstasy.  I get it.  As an adult, I go mental about the new technology, the cool new stuff, cool tricks, read up on what's what, want to be in the know.  But for my money, for all tomorrow's parties, I want activities that are about connection as well as celebration.  I want the excitement to come from the joy of doing whatever it is we are doing together.  Togetherness, being with friends, contact.  I want the kiddles to feel their hearts soar with true contentment and the excitement of being loved and honored.  I want anything else to be the gravy, not the main meal. 

The girls recently attended a Fairy Party with fairy dust and wands, a search for fairy houses in the garden, and lots of spinning and twirling outside with other kids.  They left with a "how-to-call-a-fairy" activity kit and their own specially-designed fairy houses.  Both were out of their minds when they got home, thrilled to tell us the stories of the fairies that hide in the trees and in the landscape.  They also enjoyed a demo from a company called Outrageous Pets, which despite having outrageous pricing for this thrifty mama, boasted a show and tell of really cool animals that the kids could learn about and touch.  A hedgehog, chinchilla, boa constrictor, and blue and sugar glider peppered every story, real and imaginary, for the next week.

From what I can see, we will have plenty of opportunity to negotiate for stronger, better, faster, longer events.  Celebrations with the shock and awe of Disney or Atlantic City or Las Vegas.  But while the people are young, while they are little children, the thrills we will provide will be flutters, smiles, giggles, and wiggles.  Rated G and simply easy.  An hour and a half later, Virginie's party was over. She was beaming with pride at sharing her day with her friends and we were thrilled that we'd pulled it off.  We left the decorations up for two days.  Wandering into that pink and purple wonderland every time we passed through the dining room was pure magic.  As we packed it all away, I told the girls that next time they walked through the dining room, they should envision all the sparkle, the streamers, and decorations though they were no longer there.  That, I told them, is the joy and wonder of life.  Even in an ordinary room, on an ordinary day, there is a hidden spark, a light.  Keep looking for that, I told them and every day will be a thrill.


(c)  Copyright 2013.  Repatriated Mama:  Back to the Suburban Grind.