Let Them Eat Cake: What I've Learned About Children's Birthday Parties

“What did you do last weekend?”

I used to have somewhat interesting answers to that question. I would try out a new restaurant, watch an Oscar-worthy movie or meet a friend for lunch in the city.

Since I became a mom, my answer is more along the lines of, “birthday party at Bounce U.”

At least I’m in good company; very often, these parties are my only chance to catch up with friends. Plus, the anthropologist/journalist in me soaks up the opportunity to study human behavior. I’ve collected a wealth of seemingly useless insights about the children’s party circuit. In fact, I bet by now I’ve spent enough Saturday's at Chuck E. Cheese’s and Sunday's at The Little Gym to write a book on the subject.

Since navigating the world of kids parties can be a bit tricky, I thought I’d share a few of my tips and observations with you new moms (or dads) on the scene. (Some good ought to come out of all the pizza and cake I've consumed, right?)

If you’re already a seasoned partygoer, I’m sure you don’t need my advice, but I hope you’ll have a little chuckle on me.

The invitations. Used to be you got six weeks’ notice before a party. Nowadays, you’re lucky if you get two—are they secretly hoping you won‘t come?

When the invitation finally arrives, it may come in the traditional fill-in-the-blank type of card we had when we were little (Who: When: Where: RSVP:), or it may be a fancy custom print job. Lately people have also taken a shine to those environmentally friendly e-cards. Oh, and if the party throwers are especially laz—I mean, busy—people, you may get a postcard or e-card directly from the party venue, but beware, they are easily confused with junk mail.

Also, don’t be surprised if the party start time is something off the wall like 10:52 a.m. Some of these places are veritable party factories; they like to keep to a crisp timetable.

The party favors. As someone who throws the occasional children’s party myself, party favors are probably my biggest pet peeve. Parties are expensive. Isn't it enough that we feed and entertain our guests? Must we also send them home with some useless piece of you-know-what that costs another five bucks per kid and is destined to turn up six months later in the backseat of the car? I cringe when favor fever hits at the end of the party and all the kids assail the well-intentioned mom in the corner who can’t hand favors out fast enough. I say, down with party favors! Who’s with me?

The gifts. Ah, yes, the all-important birthday gift. Aside from groceries, this is where my money goes: Gifts for someone else's child.

Have you noticed that the majority of gifts come from Learning Express these days? Take a gander at the gift table next time; chances are it will be a sea of white gift wrap with that telltale red and blue swirly pattern.

Speaking of Learning Express, they have this new-to-me thing called “birthday boxes” where kids get to run amok picking toys and games they are certain to die without. They put said toys and games into a birthday box, which goes up on a shelf with their names on it. Then, gift-givers can just pick from their selection.

In my haughty and holier than thou pre-motherhood days I would have balked at the very idea. But now that I know how hard it is to buy for someone else’s kids, I think the birthday box is pure genius. (Plus, you get a 10 percent discount on any item you buy from the box. Boo-ya.)

A final note about gifts: Always. Give. Gift receipts. Please. No one wants to be stuck with clothes that don’t fit, or with three boxes of Hi Ho Cherry-O (no matter how awesome that game is to play).

The thank you notes. Much to my chagrin, the dreaded thank you notes are still customary. Groooaaan. I’ve been holding out hope since my Bat Mitzvah that compulsory thank you notes would finally be recognized as a cruel form of punishment and vanish from the face of the earth. I’m sorry Mom, but it’s true.

Sure, I like to know that our gift landed in the right bin and made it into Susie‘s playroom as planned, but aside from that, these forced, phony thank you notes are a waste of time, trees and stamps. No one wants to write them, and no one wants to read them. I would settle for a simple email that says “Got the goods. Thanks.” Better yet, just let me know if you didn’t get the gift. Kind of a “regrets only” approach.

That said, I reserve the right to be miffed if you don’t send me one, at least until we all reach an agreement that this sort of correspondence is officially extinct.
 
The grown-ups. If the children are four years old or younger, it’s expected that they will be accompanied by an adult. When it’s the only child in the family, I've noticed that both parents tend to turn up. But once child #2 arrives, the attendance of Dad's drops off significantly, unless it’s a sports party. (Second child notwithstanding, I’ve noticed the attendance of Dad's also tends to dwindle around the time that girls start having princess-themed parties.)

The whole supervision thing gets murky around age five or six. Some people do the drop-off, whereas others (me included) are more comfortable staying with their children at this age. Since my daughter just turned five, I can’t say what happens next, but I imagine by the time she turns seven we will have finally earned our two-hour free pass.

Now, chances are you’ll remember socks for your kid, but always bring socks for yourself too. Trust me, you don’t want to be forced into buying a pair at the party venue. They’re not particularly attractive, and they don‘t wash well.

Also, unless you like to drink fruit punch at 10 a.m., bring yourself a bottled water. Your throat will be dry and sore from yelling over the sound of kids screaming, ponies braying, pinball machines pinging, and/or moon bounce machines perpetually filling with air.

The wrap-up. Does my social life revolve around my kids? Yes. Do I wish I had just a smidge more time to do the things I enjoy, like reading, eating out, or going to the movies? Yup.

But the truth is, I am 110 percent happier now that I’m a mom than when I was sleeping til 10 a.m. on weekends in my lonely Hoboken apartment. If that means the most valuable advice I have to offer right now is about gift receipts and socks, then so be it.

Just do me a favor and don’t ask me what I did last weekend.