Someone’s Got To Say It

These little kid birthday parties are driving me nuts.

Oldest, whom I’m now referring to as Chatterbox, has had a birthday party to go to every weekend for the past 3 months. Or at least it feels that way. And I know I should be happy that she has so many “friends” (come on, she’s 2) that want her to share their special day with them. And I am. But along with all that “specialness” comes a whole lotta hassle.

First you gotta rsvp. Now this might sound like a minor thing and a widely respected courtesy (and yes, I expect the same of others that are invited to my kids’ parties) but it’s a pain in the toe. I have enough to remember without having to call you to tell you that we will be at little Johnny’s birthday party at Dragon Kingdom with bells on.

Then you gotta buy a gift. I’m always rushing out to get a gift at the last minute and then I have Gift Anxiety when perusing the aisles. Is this too cheap (after all, I barely know the kid)? Is this too expensive? Is this too boring? Is this too controversial (think leopard print minidress – hey I think it was cute)? Is the kid actually gonna use this? Do they already have this? Is this the right size? And the beat goes on.

And then a $3 card for someone who can’t read. And then the wrapping, blah, blah, blah.

Then you gotta get to the party. This morning all Chatterbox could think/talk/scream about was this party she was going to this afternoon. And of course it was my Bribe Of The Day. “Come on and eat your breakfast! You wanna go to the PARTY don’t you?”

So we finally make it to the party and she’s beside herself exhausted because she’s skipped her nap because she couldn’t POSSIBLY go to sleep with the prospect of a PARTY in her immediate future. But we’ve made it. Ten minutes late (which I think is pretty darn good) But of course the invitation — to which I had to rsvp — requested that we be there no later than 1:50pm because the program was starting at 2:00pm on the dot. Gimme a break. Are we talking about the opera here? Aren’t they just gonna run around, take each other’s toys, eat cake and fight over the red balloon? Nope. This party was at the Little Gym, which I have to say was cute. But waaay to structured for a 3 year old birthday. Chatterbox lost interest very quickly. Too many instructions and guidelines for the games when all she really wanted to do was climb through the padded tunnel three or thirty times. And so she didn’t play any of the games. She reluctantly went on the moonbounce for about 10 seconds. Poor thing. And after all the PARTY! anticipation all morning.

She did enoy the pizza & cake portion of the program, however.

And then. The goody bag. Play-doh? Stickers? A noisemaker? Fruitsnacks. Does the birthday girl’s mom hate me? Can you imagine the state of my car and my child by the time we got home? There’s no way I’m not going to have to pay extra when I turn in my car at the end of my lease. Lightning blue playdoh smeared in the grooves of the leather seats must constitute “excessive wear and tear.”

And I know what you’re going to say. You don’t have to go to all those parties. Oh yes I do. If I didn’t, I’d feel guilty for depriving my beloved Chatterbox of her opportunity to socialize with her peers. It’s part of the Mom Curse job description.

Just like finding out you have three of those goody bag stickers on your butt. In the elevator at work. Stranger things have happened folks.