My big brother's birthday

Primo's VIP Jekyll and Hyde Birthday Outing was such a huge success that Seconda wants one just like it. She had more fun than anyone there, including Primo, because she was getting a chance to hang with the big kids and proving her mettle. I genuinely marvel at how fearless Sec is -- even when one of the seven year-olds had to step outside of the restaurant to "get some air," Sec hung in there, watching the revivification of Frankenstein with interest.

The day after the party, she said, "Can we go to Jekyll and Hyde for MY birthday?"

"Maybe," I replied, "We'll see."

I find it best to be evasive about these sorts of long-way-off decisions. She'll forget about it by February and be on to the next thing whatever the hell that will be.

But Primo piped up, "You can't, Sec, because your friends will be too scared."

"But I won't invite my friends," she clarified, "I'll invite YOUR friends."

Nothing like a kid sister.

Party Mama

I made the mistake many years ago of offering to throw a Halloween party for my kids. You don't realize, as a new, young mom, that if you offer to throw a seasonal party once, you will be required to throw it every year for the rest of your progeny's childhoods. Well, you're not required to throw the party but just try explaining to your kids that you're just too old and cranky and freaking tired to uphold what they have come to see as a family tradition. I thought maybe if I didn't bring it up, they'd forget about it. Fat chance. In early September, Primo started asking what was on the docket for the party this year.

"Oh, are we having a party?" I asked, innocently, "I mean, do you really want to?"

Well, that's a dumb question. What's not to want? Mommy does all the work -- buying plates and favors and materials for Halloween crafts, Mommy administers all games and lugs around dozens of juice boxes and bagels. Mommy cleans up. Kids have wild fun.

"Yes, I want it," replied Primo.

"Well, Ok, I guess, but let's keep it really small, just you and Sec's closest friends."

'OK, sure."

And we did keep the guest list down. Only that everyone has siblings, so whatever number you start with, you double. And then, once you're having four sets of siblings over, well, why not extend the invite to just one or two new friends from school -- it'll help build community after all, and improve the kids' at-school social lives. You can't very well not invite family, can you? So, somehow I'm throwing a regular old party, the day before Halloween.

You know what I'm going to say next time the kids mention a Halloween party?

"You're about to enjoy a holiday where you dress up in your dream costume and then stay up late so strangers can throw candy and chocolate at you all night until you can't eat another bite. That's enough of a party."

I have become a bona-fide party grinch.Convenient timing, just before my son's birthday.

Yes, I hate picnics in the park. What hot blooded person doesn't?

Maybe I’m a real big ole’ party pooper but I have to confess that I freaking loathe end-of-the-year park picnics. Loathe is a strong word. I don’t object morally or anything. I mean, theoretically, I’m all for it. But in practice, I am no fan. And really, I am wondering if there is anyone out there with young children who actually derives pleasure from these things

The trouble is, there’s just too much goddamned wide open space. I realize this may not be a popular opinion and the free-rangers will gasp in horror and string me up but I try to avoid ay all costs combining young children and wide open space. Ample, but confined spaces, sure, Smallish but open spaces, fine. But ample and open is a disaster, particularly if you have an impulsive speed demon on your hands like I do. In these wide open spaces, your speed demon can go anywhere in the time it takes to dip a baby carrot in ranch sauce.

Primo can be trusted to hang around the general vicinity and I don’t worry too much about him venturing off the grid. But if I turn away from my daughter for two seconds, she will be halfway across the meadow, so far I can hardly make out her tiny little shape, so far she is beyond earshot, so my embarrassing bellows COME BACK RIGHT NOW! are futile, so far that even if I was in shape, which I am most definitely not, and I sprinted, I would never overtake her. Then I worry that she will be lost in the park, like Hansel and Gretel in the forest, at the mercy of wild beasts and child-crunching witches and their urban equivalent. This worry prompts me to run, pointlessly, after her, panting and screaming, threatening her with loss of dessert the whole time. When she sees me running, she runs faster. And it is at that moment that I curse end-of-the-year picnics and the maniacs that decided to create wide open green areas in the middle of a metropolis.

The idea that I could actually carry on a conversation or ingest food or drink at this kind of thing is laughable. And there’s no way my kids eat dinner during them, wither. Sneaking a dozen cookies while I’m busy recovering from a heart attack, now that, there’s plenty of. So, at 7pm, when we finally head home, I’ve got two hungry, sugared-up, cranky kids and a thirty minute walk before I can hose them down and beg them to go to sleep.

Oh, but – you’ll say – they’ll be so tired out from all their running around, they’ll go right to sleep, at least.

Yeah, right. Sure. Of course.

Tell that to the clock which reads 10:30pm while they’re still performing duets from Mulan at top voice.

There is simply no upside to an end-of-the-year picnic. Except that the kids have fun. And really, isn’t that what it’s all about? She says, sarcastically.

I’m not saying I’m going to stop attending these freaking mixers. I’m just saying I’m going to complain about it. And maybe bring a flask next time.