Why I’m seriously considering never throwing another birthday party EVER
Daschel is invited to a birthday party tomorrow, and I’m seriously considering running away from home. It’s not just the thought of trying to pick out a present for a child I barely know, it’s not merely the anticipation of five to six hours with adults I barely know, and it’s not simply the fact that I absolutely hate watching children tear through hundreds of dollars worth of presents they won’t remember in fifteen minutes…it’s all of these things and more.
I wrote about Daschel’s last birthday party invitation, and I’ll share it because tomorrow I’m going to relive one of the most annoying events of my entire life.
It all starts innocently enough: you invite kids to your child’s party, and they invite you to theirs. It’s not so much a polite thing as it is an expectation for these kids to make appearances for your camera. Get them in front of the camera, get a couple decent pictures, and bam, party saved for posterity. Who actually cares what happens when all these kids get together? Dash’s party sucked because it was a) outdoors and b) hastily planned. Today’s party, for a girl named Emma, was over-planned and staged to such a degree that none of these kids had any fun. Well, a few did, but that was despite the adults’ best efforts to control the entire gig.
Since everyone expects a gift, you try to put on a show like you thought really hard about what to get the kid, and wind up in a Wal Mart 20 minutes before the party throwing stuff in a bag with tulle and hoping at least one of the pieces of crap you’ve grabbed is of interest to the child. As much as I enjoyed being able to buy a little pink party bag, I have to admit I was dumbfounded at the prospect of buying an item for a 3 year old girl. What do they use? What do they like? Everything I saw seemed too “grown up” for her, and things I thought seemed appropriate in retrospect seemed too kiddie. I wind up popping into a nearby mall and getting her a wax job coupon and a gift certificate at Forever 21.
“OH LEESHA I’M SO GLAD TO SEE YOU!” “PAIGE!!! WE’RE SO GLAD YOU COULD MAKE IT!!”, exclaims Leesha as she leans in for a fake hug, securing her sweaty palms on the strings of the little pink bag. “AND OH MY, A GIFT! YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE!” You’re right, I shouldn’t have. Leesha quickly introduces us to a gaggle of friends and family, all of whom look like extras from a Conway Twitty video circa 1983. Long, forlorn faces quickly muster a “It seems like we just got here” expression for my benefit, then quickly resume whatever conversations they were having before I arrived.
These poor kids. Emma especially. Poor girl tries to wander around Chuck E. Cheese’s only to be met by a relative with a camera at every turn. Mom has one end covered, Dad at the other. Each time she tries to evade them in an effort to catch up with the other kids to play, a parent yells “EMMA SMILE!” or “HEY EMMA DO THAT DANCE”. The child is sweating, exhausted 1 hour into the party, and has yet to play a game or run around with her friends. Chuck E. comes out and gathers the kids to sing a song on the “stage”, which is little more than a blue carpet and a curtain. Dash runs up, and passes a friend from school, Connor, along the way. I look at Connor’s mom and ask, “Would Connor like to come up and dance with Dash and the others?” “No, Connor isn’t finished with his pizza yet.” What is this, Christmas dinner at Daddy Warbucks’ mansion? He has to finish his pizza before you’ll let him play?
After two and a half hours, some Cheese employees scamper out from behind the curtain and yell, “ARE WE READY TO START THIS PARTY???!??!?!?!?!” I look around helplessly at the other parents, who seem oblivious to the insanity of which they are a part. Maybe it is because all of the parents were there with their husbands and wives, and actually had another adult to converse with, one who wasn’t intent on talking to everyone like they talk to their 3 year old. Maybe they were actually entertained by stoned 17 year olds dancing around like puppets for their children. Or maybe they were stoned, and loving every minute of it. All I know is that anytime I’ve been somewhere dreadful for two and a half hours, and someone tells me it’s just starting, I look for an exit.
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