It was my son’s birthday party last weekend. His birthday isn’t until mid-August, but you can’t have a party then, unless you have it in Tenerife. Our child is one of the youngest in his year group. The only literature I’ve read on this suggests that he will spend his life at the bottom of the class, underperforming in sports, a pattern that will continue into his adult life and prevent him from achieving any great success. This is bad news for him, but means we are liberated from worrying that it’s us who ruined him.
We were hoping, for a change, to host a kids’ party that didn’t ruin the weekend – always a monster of logistics, but now complicated by having a package of mini demons entrusted to our care for two-and-a-half hours. Children’s parties throw up so many issues, the first being who gets to come. My wife and I didn’t think this mattered – if our children aren’t invited to a party, we remind them that there is nothing better in life than not having to go somewhere. But then there are the parents who remember if you didn’t invite their child to a birthday party back in year 1, sentencing us to a lifetime of scowls at the school drop-off. A small price to pay, I would argue.
The other issue is behaviour. Recently, I was at a birthday party with one of ours and saw a mother push him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I marched straight over, and as I approached was struck by how strangely she was dressed for a woman her age. It was then I realised that she was a very tall girl in my son’s year. This raised a number of complications. First, I was going to have to tell off a girl who all my instincts were telling me was a woman in her mid-20s. Secondly, if the girl was this size at seven years old, I could only imagine her parents were 8ft tall and ready to beat the shit out of me if I upset their daughter. I took the coward’s way out and ushered my child away while apologising to her.
Anyway, my wife is the hero of this piece. Not only did she foresee the exact amount of food required, and what the kids would like, while hunting out the party bag items with the greatest cost to kids-go-wow ratio, she also bought prosecco. I know what you’re thinking – so far, so very middle class, Romesh. There is a whole article to be written in which I would reject that assertion, but the effect of the prosecco was miraculous. It made all the parents stay. Plus, it felt like a summer party, regardless of whether people were drinking or not, and everyone was in a good mood. Parents were less combative when we had to say things like, “Would you mind asking your son to stop punching the entertainer in the dick?”
I am loth to promote a pro-alcohol message, particularly as I am off the sauce at the moment. But my advice is this: a stress-free kids party is like a Pixar movie – there should be stuff for both kids and adults to enjoy. A great party then, until I made the rookie error of allowing the boy to open his presents without keeping an eye on who gave him what. This means we are completely unable to give out meaningful thank-you cards. I didn’t think that was a big deal, but my wife tells me we will have to move house.
