Crappy Birthday to You

For some reason in this country when a child’s birthday rolls around, the mom is supposed to entertain a bunch of snot-nosed kiddos with some “special” activity, hop them up on sugary cake, and then send them home with a small bag of worthless, plastic toys.

Well as far as I’m concerned, this is bullshit. Do you know what happened on my daughter’s birthday? I shot an 8-pound bowling ball out my hoo-ha. And how do I get paid back for the agony I went through? Every year around that date, I’m submitted to something that’s almost as painful—planning a birthday party. But unless I want my daughter to move to the island of misfits, what choice do I have?

So last week I sucked it up and threw my daughter the bestest birthday party in the whole wide world. That’s how she would describe it. But let’s be honest, she’s three and would have been ecstatic if I gift-wrapped a cardboard box and gave it to her. The real truth is I threw her a semi-decent birthday party at the least expensive place I could find. Besides our house, of course. If I planned a party in our backyard, that day it would have definitely rained. And hailed. And tornadoed. And spewed volcanic ash.

Anyway, as if planning and throwing this shindig wasn’t painful enough, the torture continued after the party as my kid unwrapped all of the presents she doesn’t need. So far I’ve written one thank you note.

Dear mother who was thoughtful enough to give us the electronic game that doesn’t have volume control,

Please circle which birthday present we should get for your child this year:

A. Cymbals
B. Matches
C. A BB gun

The mother who will not be inviting your kid to next year’s birthday party

I’m still debating what to do about the mom who chose to give my three-year-old nail polish. I think maybe the next time she has us over for a play date, we’ll just bring her present with us. There’s nothing like a game of beauty salon to kill a few hours. And a few rugs.

Anyway, next year’s gonna be different. I’ve already booked the place. Canyon Ranch. And if you’re waiting for your invitation, don’t hold your breath. There are only three people who are invited. Me, myself and I.

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One Response to Crappy Birthday to You

  1. My mother and aunt (her sister-in-law) had kind of a funny “lets see who can torture each other the most through Christmas presents bought for opposing children” It all started with play-dough, harmless enough but it was THE HUGE SET and we all know how lovely that is to get out of carpet. Followed by make your own volcano, glitter mania crap, science kit, various LOUD musical instruments yadda yadda yadda…you get the drill. It was back and forth for years, Christmas AND birthdays. Until….the holy grail, my mother had WON…what did she get for precious little Ryan on that Christmas Eve while the whole family was watching? Yes, the most horrifying child toy there is…AN ANT FARM! my mother is an evil genius, NEVER mess with my mother. It’s a miracle they still talk! I remember there was a nod…nothing was said. It was just an unspoken agreement, you won….it’s over. BEST.CHRISTMAS.EVER!

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