By: Jennifer Richardson Holt
There have been balloons hanging in my house for almost a week now. There are cupcakes in my fridge that have been there nearly as long, and a large, themed “Happy Birthday” banner draped across my fireplace. It is framed by the aforementioned balloons.
Why, you may be wondering, does my house seem to be in a perpetual state of party mode for just an average week? Well, in my household these days, there is a lot going on. This coming Monday is my husband’s birthday. The following Friday is my daughter’s birthday. These two events are promptly followed by Father’s Day, so celebration is the name of the game. Well, not exactly — since this year, all the actual parties, at least the ones involving festivities in our home, are being celebrated *before* the actual dates arrive. You can call it impatience or some sort of clever anticipatory planning. Honestly, it’s probably a bit of both.
My daughter has two parties. Yes, I know. Before you think it, I’m well aware of how ridiculously rotten that makes her sound. (In case any non-Southerners are aghast at that description, know that it means spoiled in an endearing way — not that she’s a villain of some sort.) Technically, she has one and a half parties. The first is the one she shares with my husband — it’s for our families. Some relatives have a bit of a distance to travel, so we cover both birthdays in one trip.
For this joint party, I decorate a bit but don’t go over the top, as my husband is a man in his mid-forties, and the likelihood that he and his soon-to-be 9-year-old daughter would have similar ideas for birthday party decor is slim. Well, there *was* the year she went with a luau theme, and there was potential for them to be happy sharing that one. However, her vision focused more on excessive amounts of tropical flowers and grass skirts, while his leaned toward a fully roasted pig. You can see the disconnect there. (Though I just had a stroke of genius that could make next year’s joint party one for the ages. You’ll have to come back next June to see how that plays out.)
The second party my daughter has is for friends, and it’s hers and hers alone. I think she’s smart enough to realize that she should revel in the fact that she gets more than one celebration — even if one is shared. She’s clever that way.
As a matter of fact, speaking of her wit, when my husband and I asked if she would be gravely offended if we took a much-needed date night on her actual birthday, I was hoping she wouldn’t hold a grudge. After all, she’d already have had two parties — not to mention that a date night for us means she gets to spend the night with Grandma and Grandpa, which she is never opposed to.
Do you know that child gave me a half-smirk and a criminally offensive side-eye and told me she was “almost 9 years old and needed to be able to deal with things such as people not caring about her birthday”? She knew *exactly* what she was doing — and got exactly the response from me I think she wanted. However, she did proceed to backpedal as though a grizzly were on the bike path. She’s clearly wise enough to know when to retreat from her cleverness.
It was somewhere amidst these festivities that I began to reminisce about birthday parties from my own childhood. While I’m the first to admit that my memory has all the retention capabilities of a colander, I can only recall two childhood birthday parties. I remember a very meager little gathering when I was perhaps six or seven, and one slumber party when I turned thirteen — which turned out to be a tad less than thrilling because, well… pubescent girls.
I found it interesting that I could only remember two parties from my entire childhood while my daughter is here having two for *each* birthday. What a world.
I don’t feel as though I missed out on anything by not having many parties when I was little — and I certainly don’t mean to imply as much. I know I had presents, and just as (possibly more) importantly, cake. In my deepest of hearts, a cake (or a delicious dessert/meal of your choosing, if you are one of those questionable individuals who don’t care for cake) is the true hallmark of a birthday celebration.
While I’m sure my daughter loves all her doubled merrymaking, she agrees that cake is pivotal. My husband, on the other hand, would lean more toward some delicious meat — he’s one of those questionable ones.
Truly, I love decorating and creating magical scenes for my daughter’s birthday. Is it excessive? Maybe. I suppose it’s my sentimental way of trying to give her a childhood full of fond memories. Perhaps she’ll even have so many memories that she won’t be able to keep straight which remembrance belongs to which party or which year. I think that’s a struggle I’m willing to embrace.
I will only be the parent of a child for a few more years. I plan to milk them — or cake them, as the case may be — for all they’re worth.
Prose and Possibilities 