Simple Doesn't Live Here Anymore

Remember when a birthday party consisted of ten kids wearing party hats, playing pin the tail on the donkey, and musical chairs? How about when the biggest theme decision that needed to be made was which cartoon character to put on the birthday cake?

When I was a kid, you knew you were at a good party if there was more than one flavor of Kool-Aid to choose from. It was a great party if there was more than one variety of Kool-Aid, and three or more party games. I had the granddaddy of all birthday parties; two kinds of Kool-Aid, three party games, treat bags full of cookies, toys and candy, and a piñata. I remember my parents complaining about how much that party cost them...

Ha!

My daughter just turned nine. When she was younger, we were able to get away with a few of her preschool friends and a cake. I figured that the next logical progression would be a party with games, hats, balloons, and treat bags.

Well, at least I got the treat bags right.

Taylor is now a slim, lanky, mischievous, too-intelligent-for-her-own good nine-year-old. At times I look at her and wonder where time has gone, how my once quiet, tiny bundle of joy seemed to have morphed into the individual that I see today.

Of course, my daughter is not the only thing that has morphed. Her birthday, which not so long ago had consisted of a cake and a new package of play-doh has evolved into a full-blown community event.

My daughter doesn't have birthday parties, she has annual celebrations that rival an Inaugural Ball.

Okay, so I can't place all the blame on her still petite shoulders. I admit that I get a kick out of planning her parties. But I also get an ulcer, huge credit card bills and somewhere in the middle of the planning stages the need to grab my husband my his shirt collar and scream "why did you let me get sucked into this again?!?"

The parties have gotten increasingly complicated with time. For her seventh birthday we rented out an arcade. For her eighth birthday, we did miniature golf and laser tag.

However, this year I was determined to keep it simple. A medium sized party, a cake, and snack foods. Nothing major or elaborate.

Yeah, right.

After several weeks of deliberation, Taylor decided that she wanted to have a bowling party. After calling several alleys in the area, I found one that offered a party package at a reasonable rate. I informed Taylor that she could invite fourteen friends and her cousin that was the same age as she. She was fine with this, and proceeded to compose her guest list. Meanwhile I proceeded to pick a date for the party.

I should have known that things were going too well.

Trying to fit a party into my daughter's incredibly busy schedule is as easy as baking a pie over a candle. I had both of our day planners (yes, she does have one), balanced on my lap while I was on the phone with the bowling center. We finally settled on a day and a time that was available. I was just grateful it wasn't 4am on a Wednesday.

The fifteen-person guest list quickly ballooned to twenty when my oh- so conscientious daughter felt it necessary to invite kids that had invited her to their parties and the siblings of her schoolmates that she also played with. Since there was no way for me to object without looking like an ogre greedily guarding a bridge, I approved the extra five people.

To myself, I smiled at her thoughtfulness. My wallet however was not pleased. It was screaming "Danger Kim Francis, Danger!" like the robot from Lost In Space. I ignored it and went on to my next task - finding a cake.

While I was on the phone with the bakery, my daughter said thoughtfully, "Mom, doesn't the bowling center have an arcade?"

I almost dropped the phone. "Shh", I said, "We'll talk about it when I get off the phone". Since I was on hold, we could have talked about it then, but I needed a moment to create an objection to what I knew would be an expensive proposition. I knew I being delusional. Anyone who believes you can gather twenty kids at a party and not spring for arcade tokens should look into buying that big bridge in Brooklyn.

Again, I had been relocated from the suburbs of simplicity to the sprawling urban jungle of party extravaganzas. Where had I gone wrong?

In the midst of this, my husband upon arriving home from work, quietly changed from a button-down work shirt to a T-shirt. He gave me a smug smile. I wanted to slap him.

To end a long story, the party went well. Taylor had a blast, her guests were happy, and they each won things from the arcade. In addition, the kids all liked their treat bags. On the way home from the party, Taylor asked, in all seriousness, "So, what are we going to do next year"?

Oh well, at least I'll get the treat bags right.

Excerpt from Moments of Clarity - Get you copy today!

- posted by Kim @ 3:42 PM