One Mom's Chill is the Power Move We've Been Waiting For
Do as she says, not as I do
I have a friend who is a wonderful person and ruining motherhood for the rest of us.
She invited my son to her kid’s birthday party. The nerve, right? Of course my son wanted to go. He loved this kid.
“I’m thinking Friday afterschool. Or maybe Sunday?”
Umm, it was Tuesday.
Did she think:
A. We would be free on such short notice? (We totally were.)
B. A MOM CAN PLAN A CHILD’S BIRTHDAY PARTY IN 3 DAYS???
Lady, you’re telling me you don’t know THE PLAN? Like you haven’t been thinking about this birthday PARTY every day since the day after the last birthday party? You don’t have the run of show seared on your cerebrum right next to NO SULFA DRUGS! and RUBBLE IS HIS FAVORITE RESCUE MUTT!
Obviously this was her child’s fault! Surely he changed his mind a million times or did not provide clear and concise ideas on how to drop $3,000 for two hours of immediately forgettable fun.
Three days was not nearly enough time to obsess over her son’s gift, which we all know will 100% end up being a Fortnite gift card so he spend real money buying fake things for fake people.
Not to make her feel worse or out her to CPS, but I had to ask: What in the shit balls was going on here?
“Wow! You guys really fly by the seat of your pants! His birthday is this weekend and you’re just figuring out the plans? Brave!”
She laughed. Laughed! This woman was in crisis!
“Oh, his birthday was three weeks ago. This is just the friend party.”
Oooookay, so I’m expected to believe her kid’s birthday came and went with a small family celebration, party hat, his favorite pizza for dinner, and an extra hour of Minecraft before they all cut into a Safeway sheet cake?
Like… a perfectly normal party?
The madness! Should I offer to host this poor kid’s party? If so I need six months minimum planning time, a team of 20, and an $11,000 budget.
The Perfectly Normal Perfect Party
This hastily slapped together shindig was at my friend’s house. As I rolled up to the curb, I was flabbergasted at what I saw— or rather, didn’t see.
There was:
No 3 story bounce house tethered to the lawn!
No Big Rig gaming RV!
No 75-foot inflatable pirate ship waterslide!
No baby panda petting zoo!
No alligator wrestling!
No special-FX body painting creativity station!
No 36-foot trampoline!
No parkour lessons from an actual mountain goat!
No hot air balloon!
No Las Vegas illusionist on break from their Vegas residency!
No portable waterpark!
No NERF inflatable battle-arena obstacle course!
No pick-a-puppy parting gift!
NO THEME!
Just a couple of really delicious smelling Domino’s pizzas, Kirkland brand apple juice, a bag of Jolly Ranchers, and a bunch of kids running loose in the backyard.
“So, you’re good?” I asked the mom. “You need me to pick up anything? Maybe a Minecraft banner or some decorative paper napkins?”
Blink twice, lady!
“All good!” she said.
“And I should retrieve him…later?”
“Whenever!”
“Like in…2 hours?”
“Whatever works!”
Actually, whatever does not work. I don’t do well in ambiguity! I need concrete, definitive parameters and a solid PLAN.
But she was gone. Last seen wandering barefoot into her backyard with a roll of paper towels and plastic garbage bag.
And get this— my kid had the best time! He said it was the “sickest” birthday party he’s even been to. They never left the house. Just played video games and basketball, watched some YouTube, ate cake, and a couple of kids did the Ice Bucket Challenge.
So there was a theme— “Gen-X Playdate.” So retro!
“But she at least put the Jolly Rangers in cute glass apothecary jars, right?
“Huh? Stop being weird, Mom!”
Yeah! Stop Being Weird, Moms!
I don’t like being wrong, but obviously everything I thought I knew about motherhood had shit the bed sideways. If throwing elaborate parties for toddlers was wrong, who even was I? That’s 97% of my identity!
My friend meanwhile was quietly, calmly, and quite honestly a little lethargically, changing the game. The rest of us suckers were like those greedy caterpillars from Hope for the Flowers, crawling over each other’s fat, fuzzy backs to reach the top of the caterpillar pillar. Except it wasn’t the sky we were after. It was Airbnbs with lazy rivers and Sephora spa days and goddamn Kendrick Lamar driving a Mister Softee ice cream truck through the walls of a high school gymnasium like some Fiver gig worker version of the Kool-Aid Man!
NOW THAT IS A SICK PARTY, KID!
But it was RUINED! All of it!
Spreading the Word
“I know a mom who had a birthday party without a theme,” I whispered to my neighbor as she arrived home from work.
“How long have you been standing in my bushes?” she asked.
“FOCUS!” I shouted, pulling box leaves out of my hair. “No goodie bags. Not even one goddamn inflatable.”
She shook her head. “Fake news. You gotta Snopes that shit.”
“I was there! Hear my words! SHE HAD NO THEME!”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” she answered, dragging us both into the boxwoods. This was a woman who was minutes away from booking a professional ultimate frisbee team to play games with her son and six friends for his ninth birthday. “Tell me it sucked. Tell me the kids hated it!”
I shook my head. “They loved it,” I said. “We’ve been played. Pass it on! Save a Mom.”
The following day, I ran into the mom of a fellow bare bones party-attender.
“Did you hear about the party?” she asked.
“Incredible,” I said. “Can’t stop thinking about it. That woman is a visionary.”
“Same,” she agreed. “I immediately canceled the six rooms at the Residence Inn we rented for Leo’s party and just bought a hose and outdoor Jenga.”
Too bad. My son would have loved that party.
What Else Were We Being Weird About?
When my son was in daycare, birthday parties became a source of contention, contemplation, and competition. What started as a few store bought cupcakes for three-year-olds turned into visits from the local fire department, a butterfly wrangler, The Chinchilla Lady (she was cool), and professionally DJ’d dance parties. It wasn’t that the parents were trying to one-up each other. It was that the waterline kept getting accidentally raised because none us knew what the hell we were doing. Were aerial hammock classes not fun for toddlers? Who knew? Finally the owner of the daycare stepped in and kindly explained how a three-hour interpretive dance performance of Frozen could be disruptive. Some of these kids really needed a nap.
You know who else needs a nap? Moms. But we’ve been so busy making our lives harder. If backyard playtime and bulk apple juice were literally on the table, then I wanted in on that action! We all deserve in on that action!
PUT DOWN YOUR CHAFING DISHES, MOMS! We’re doing bare bones parenting.
New Rules for Moms Taking Care of Kids Who As it Turns Out Don’t Really Give a Shit About All That Stuff You Do:
Feeding:
I never met a kid with scurvy (although when my son was seven he lost four teeth in two days so maybe I have?) The Middle-Aged Lady Mom bureau of getting real sick of making food no one eats has come out with updated nutritional guidelines for children.
Clothing:
A couple pairs of buffalo check pajama bottoms and one hoodie should cover it. Everything else can go.
Footwear:
Who cares about arch support and preventing lifelong, debilitating injuries? Not Moms! Get that kid some Crocs. They never outgrown them and they go with everything. As an added bonus, my son swears Crocs are edible so if you really had to, you could eat them in an emergency.
Discipline:
It’s fine, everything’s fine, just don’t worry about it, okay?
See how much time we could be saving???
Putting the No-Plan Into Action
My son’s birthday was months away and though there was no action needed, I thought I should let him in on the no-plan plan.
“So I’m thinking for your birthday we’ll just have your friends over for some basketball and water balloons? We can get pizza or Jersey Mike’s. Your choice!”
“MOM!” he proclaimed. “Am I grounded? Are you mad at me? You’re not going to plan one of your parties for me?”
“I…I mean, you had such a good time at Collin’s…”
“MOM! Your parties are legendary! Everyone says so! All the decorations! The food! The way you display the candy in all those weird jars everyone is afraid they’ll break!”
Uh oh…
“Okay,” I said giving him an enormous hug. “I’ll think of something. I hear some rooms opened up at the Residence Inn.
XO,
Shelly
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This was so funny 😆 I’ve got a kids’ birthday coming up and it’s the first one I’ve done at an indoor bounce place (dunno what you call it but they have bouncy castles, ball pits, slides etc). Birthday parties are far too expensive these days - all we got was some homemade pizza and cake and running around the house. Just as it should be.
This is brilliant! And, as a Gen-X mom of young adults, I say the same principle applies to bar and bat mitzvahs and graduation parties. (And—dare I say it?—also weddings.)