Fun With Play-Dough

There are few things more popular with the under-ten crowd than birthday parties. There are the invitations, the “what-to-wears” and “what-present-to-picks” and the anticipation of the birthday cake. For adults, however, they tend to be somewhat constipated events.

First, there’s the location; where will we have it? Brave parents do it at home, but that’s not necessarily a great idea. You don’t want to be embarrassed about the state of your house, so you’ll spend three whole days cleaning. Then, five minutes after the guests arrive, your house is a disgusting mess, there’s cake rubbed in the carpet, punch spilled on your curtains, someone throws up on your prized Persian rug, and…is that a sandwich in your DVD player?

So, after learning our lesson, many parents cave and book a room at the local pizza place, swimming pool, or community center. There are many options; the one thing they all have in common is that the food sucks and they’ll squeeze your wallet until it’s as dry as the Sahara desert. I once accompanied my daughter to a party at the YMCA; there was a lady present whose job it was to make sure everything ran smoothly. She ran around like an over-caffeinated chicken, telling the kids that “now it’s time for presents!” and “now it’s time for cake!” It felt like we were in boot camp and she was the drill sergeant. By the end, most of the children were exhausted, and not in a good way. Remember that afterglow that everybody enjoys so much, when the kids are tired after too much fun and you know they’ll sleep at night? It was nowhere to be found.  Instead, thanks to Miss Neurotic, everybody was as nervous and wound up as if they’d downed a whole bag of sugar and chased it with a large espresso.

Having the party outside is always a good option. You have to make sure there’s a toilet nearby, but many public parks lend themselves very well to birthday fun. You won’t have to worry about cleaning up too much; as long as you pick up your trash, that big chunk of cake that fell facedown in the grass can just stay there.  Of course, there’s the weather to keep track off, you don’t want the little ones to get drenched, blown away, or sick.

Birthday parties are highly political occasions; who gets invited, and who gets left in the cold? I remember how the battle lines were drawn at my own grade school; there were parties I was never invited to, and there were sure bets. At my daughter’s school, they have the rule that party invitations are either given to all the children in the classroom, or none at all. Since there are only nine children in my daughter’s class, I don’t have a problem with that. It certainly helps to know that, when all is said and done, we don’t have to worry about hurt feelings and bruised egos. Just imagine the guilt.

Recently, I saw a segment on Television about what girls are expecting these days. A few overly ambitious women had started a “Princess Birthday Event’, where girls ranging in age from six to ten were given a fashion make-over at a salon, complete with glamorous dresses and make-up. Then they were moved to a dining room where they had a Princess tea party, after which they held a fashion show. I am glad my daughter was out of the room; the onslaught of pink and glitz was so overwhelming, it made me squint.  Why is it that kids these days (ha, my favorite line) need to be entertained to the point of no return? For my daughter’s next party, I plan to just let the kids run around on the grass behind our local synagogue for two hours, after which they can down some juice, eat their cake, and go home tired and happy.  Simple, straightforward, and it requires zero sequins and almost no planning. Just the way I like it.

My daughter likes to dress herself. Unfortunately, her taste lies somewhere between Bob Mackie and Anna Nicole Smith. Whenever we go shopping for a new dress, I have to lay down the ground rules: ‘Limit the glitter, feathers, and sequins; Mommy is always right, and for God’s sake, keep the pink flowers to a minimum’.

My daughter always enthusiastically agrees to said rules. Her most important goal is to get me through the door; once inside the store she’ll work on changing my mind. Or so she thinks.

Shopping with children is, to put it mildly, a minefield. We like to go to Target, but even that lately has become a problem. Someone at national head quarters apparently has decided there needs to be a section for young girls with fake hair pieces, rhinestone studded crap and pink cowboy hats. I’m wondering if they’ll start selling the matching trailer soon? It screams Beauty Pageant, and just thinking about it makes my blood pressure rise.

My daughter looks longingly at it, every time we visit. Unfortunately, it’s located right behind the sales’ racks, and that’s a section I never skip. I’ve seen too many ‘accidents’ involving my daughter’s wardrobe to pay the new price for everything.

Of course, disagreements about what-to-wear don’t just happen at the store; the real arguments are had at home. She attends private school, and has to wear a uniform: navy bottom, white or blue top. These rules are sort of loose, which is both a blessing and a curse. Regardless of which shirt I pick out in the morning, she has to pick something else. I don’t know whether this is because she already made a decision the night before, or just to assert her independence. I imagine it’s the latter. Add to that the fact that we’re both cranky in the morning, and it’s understandable that we rarely make it past eight AM without one of us yelling: “Fine! Be that way!”

I understand she feels the need to choose her own outfits, and wants to change five times on Saturday just because she can. What I don’t understand is why she insists on wearing things that don’t fit. Many a times we’ve battled over pants that are too short, shoes that are too tight, and shirts that bare her midriff whenever she bends over. Maybe it’s the six-year-old’s equivalent of  “It doesn’t fit now, but once I lose five pounds, it will”.  Whatever the reason, I’ve resorted to raiding her closet when she’s away at school. She won’t notice anything missing until months later, which seriously cuts down on her separation anxiety.