Hold the Frosting

It seems like only yesterday I was laying flat on my back kissing the Blarney stone in Cork, Ireland wishing for some good Irish luck and a handsome husband. Twenty years later, I have the husband, two kids and a closet full of itchy wool sweaters. These day I don’t have time for exotic travel. I am busy raising my kids, working, and attending three to four birthday parties on the weekends. Yes, I live on the birthday party circuit.

My introduction to this particular form of adult madness began about a year ago when I attended a magnificent orphan Annie birthday party at a swanky hotel. I was greeted with a choice of pink or white champagne, my kids jewels or glitter to decorate their crowns. A buffet table decorated with fine tea sandwiches allowed us to nibble as we pleased. ‘Now this is something I could get used to,’ I mused as the waiter topped off my glass. When one of the kids broke the two-foot chocolate Statue of Liberty adorning the cake, no one seemed to stress as New York City quickly turned to cocoa bits.

After attending fashion show, petting zoo and rock star parties, I began to plan my own birthday party extravaganza. Our budget couldn’t handle a fancy hotel for our youngest daughter’s birthday, so we settled on a mermaid party at a local hair salon that also had a photography studio. After eating some finger sandwiches, the girls got their hair done, nails painted and make-up applied. They slipped on mermaid costumes and had their photos taken in various poses. My mother, who had flown out for the party, kept looking at me. I think she was wondering if I had been smoking crack to plan such a party for my daughter who was only turning four.

She didn’t realize if I had to give up my weekends, I was going to do it in style. That was until my daughters attended a princess birthday party at the same hair salon/photography studio location. Upon arrival, they didn’t want to eat, just get their hair and make-up done. I ignored the low blood sugar possibility since they seemed perfectly content. That is until they had to change into their costumes.

“I can’t dress as a princess,” my oldest daughter cried, “Princesses are not cool and not fun. I want to be a rock star.” I stared at my spoiled Eloise and wondered what the right parenting move was. If I took her home right away, it would cause a scene and punish my other daughter who was a happy princess.

“Anything wrong?” the birthday girl’s mother came over to ask.

“No, no,” I lied. “Just looking for a costume that fits.” As large tears rolled down my daughter’s face, I noticed that the properly dressed girls posing for their pictures were taking this photo-op seriously. This was not a princess moment, this was a ‘Top Model’ photo shoot as one of the moms yelled, ‘Work it, girl.’

That’s when the light bulb exploded in my head and I realized that the birthday party scene had gotten out of control. If my daughters were experiencing hair salons with photo shoots when they were four and five, what are they going to do on their wedding day? Shave their head and get a tattoo?

I decided to place some limits on the parties I threw and the ones we attended. Only one party a weekend is the new household rule. As for the parties we throw, I am aiming for the simplicity of cupcakes and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, but it’s hard. Our kids are so used to being entertained that I’m looking for new ideas. For my daughter’s next birthday, I’m considering an educational party about cities in Europe with photos and food from the places I visited.

As if that’s going to happen. I think I’ll change the cupcakes to a chocolate sheet cake, stuff a pinata with candy, and make her birthday party what it’s really about--the consumption of sugar by all.