EVEN SAID IT , BUT I WILL . I’m talking birthday parties. Forego the fancy and just let them eat cake.
When my daughter was three, she went to a party at a gymnastics studio—one of those event parties that serve the dual purposes of placating the spoiled rottens for two hours and showing off the family resources.
Hooray.
Forty kids balanced, jumped, and flew through the air. When the time came for opening gifts, the birthday girl sat on a throne—yes, a throne—while her mother ripped open packages and shoved them into the girl’s lap. The father digitally captured his princess’s indifferent dismissal of dolls, puzzles, and games while the mother screamed out names to be recorded by yet another of the child’s staff.
A gift without a card wreaked havoc:
“DORA?” the mother screamed out to the crowd. “WHO GAVE THE DORA?” She huffed and rolled her eyes when no one answered, but the show had to go on.
Birthday parties are out of control. The kid lived another year. Get over it. If you don’t stop now, by the time she’s fifteen your royal one will need an international audience in Times Square to feel appreciated.
For both of my children’s first birthdays we invited hordes of friends, family, and neighbors for BBQs. There were special baby cakes for smashing and kegs next to the helium machine. I made invitations and food from scratch. The first birthday is all about the parents—as it should be. You deserve to show off the fact that you, a mere mortal, have managed to keep an infant alive for an entire twelve months. Go ahead; celebrate like it’s 1999!
After Year One, tone it down. Don’t worry about the kids. They’re not as interested in being popular and impressing their friends as you are. They just want to eat cake.
Mellowing out your own kids’ parties is a good start, but it’s not enough. Sadly, some people won’t comply with my simple request to the excise the excess. That’s why there’s another side to this plan. In addition to toning down your child’s parties, you’ll also need to transform him into an unwanted guest to cut down on the number of adorable invites littering his inbox—I mean cubby. It’s as easy when you coach your kids to say the right things.
Instead of:
Happy birthday, Johnny. Thank you for having me.
Teach this:
I hope you like your water gun. The kids who made it are about our age. I’m glad we don’t live in China.
Instead of:
Thank you, Mrs. Smith, for inviting me to the party.
Try this:
Wow, look at all this wrapping paper—good thing we’ve got so many landfills.
Or this:
Don’t feel bad about throwing out all that food. I don’t think kids in Africa even like pizza.
You get the idea. In no time your kid will be blacklisted from every birthday party in town. Double bonus—no gifts to buy and no reciprocal invitations! Think of how good it’ll feel to reclaim your Friday nights and Saturday afternoons.
When it’s your turn to host you can blindfold the little brats, put something sharp in their hands, and spin them around until they’re dizzy. That’s what our parents did. Kids don’t mind, so long as you feed them cake afterward.
Health Nut
R
ECENTLY I HAD ONE OF THOSE AFTERNOONS . T OO MUCH homework, multiple sports practices, deadlines, and a child so stricken with allergies that he could neither breathe nor see. I dreaded adding, “make dinner,” to my responsibilities, so I did what people do.
“Let’s order pizza,” I said to my daughter, the one without eyes the size of boiled eggs. She tilted her badly-in-need-ofwashing head. You see, because I am such a Good Mommy, because I cook meals almost every night with multiple food groups in pretty colors, and because we rarely eat out, my daughter had no idea what I was talking about.
“You can order a pizza?”
Seriously? What kind of six-year-old freak had I raised who didn’t know that pizza comes from a zit-faced teenager who shows up at your house in a run down