Freak Show

When I don't know how something is going to go, I either leave it to blow in the wind because I can't do anything about it, or I obsess about it to the point of severe anxiety and the resultant face breakouts, alopecia, nervous tics and the like.

Examples of things that blow in the wind: getting on airplanes (i.e. once on), giving presentations at conferences (they either like it or they don't), grant proposals. In all of these cases I put my best work into preparing, but I don't get upset and then just go ahead with whatever happens.

Things that make me crazy: childrens' birthday parties, like the one I hosted for The Big One yesterday.

Big One turned eight years old this week. She is quite a confident child, and even when people say they don't like her (one of the girls in her class is a bit fickle that way) she just says it's hilarious and gos about her business. She is almost the tallest person in her class but looking down on a lot of other tiny little things doesn't bother her or anyone else, and she gets along with everyone rather than having any one best friend...or the best friend changes from week to week. Her usually calm demeanor is only upset by inequity, whether she experiences it or sees it inflicted upon someone else. Not to say the child is perfect; I've seen a few math books flung across the room this year and a younger brother who's been put in his place with a well-timed remark. Generally though, I am a lucky mum.

It took me ages to figure out what to do about a birthday party for this child. The Grade 2 class has >20 children in it, and over half are the girlies. I sent out the invitations once I figured out what to do, and requested replies for Wednesday of this week, thinking that most people would reply immediately and only one or two stragglers would leave this to the last minute. No, apparently I do not think like other people, or perhaps they take "...by Wednesday" to mean "Wednesday". They all called on Wednesday, and one called on Thursday. Aghgh...but okay, got that set up. From there I just had to wait until Sunday, and make a cake. The beauty of the party was that I wouldn't have to prepare anything, nor clean it up. I would only have to make sure that 12 little girls got into bathing suits and out of them again, that they ate and watched my child open presents. There was no good reason to worry about this, except that it was entirely possible that there would be idle time. Idle time with 12 grade two girls? Deadly. It caused my heart to do flip flops, my palms to sweat (my palms never sweat) and my teeth to clench (luckily I have a mouth guard for that. My dentist is wearying of my ability to break my own teeth.) . Twelve little girls, waiting for something to happen. It kept me up at night.

I kept them in the pool as long as possible. I couldn't believe that they cared about changing out of their bathing suits in front of each other, at this age. One of them yelled, "Don't Look!" when I went into the change room...so I averted my eyes and said, "Oh, you're right. I have never seen a child change out of her clothes before," which inspired a fit of giggling and then they just got dressed, except for one child who said that people were peeking in on her (she was hiding in the shower stall) .... I pointed out that if she wasn't trying to be so secretive, no one would care. She got dressed too. How odd, this modesty.

My fears were, of course, totally unfounded. Did I have to worry about blank time? No. There wasn't a spare moment. They finished in the pool, they ate chips and drank pop and I pointed out to Big One that maybe water would be better? "No, Mumma. Coke."
"But you've never had coke."
"I want to try it."
"How come she's never had coke?"
"Because I don't buy it."
"But it's a very refreshing and tasty drink."
"That may be. I don't put my money into it. I buy other things, like beans and rice."
"Beans and rice? Yuck!"
"Well, there you go."

For my own part, the girlies do think I'm hilarious, especially because I make them say please and thank you, and point out that "More coke please!" is not asking for coke so much as demanding it, and that it probably won't get them more to drink any time soon. They liked to show me every time the class clown did something with her chips (dipped them in the plum sauce or the mustard or dropped them in her drink) which was amusing and over which I would exclaim and throw my hands in the air and make some comment about the chips having a mind of their own.

End of the party comes, I am short one loot bag. I choose the child I know will not have a crying fit over the missing bag, and am gratified to see that I am correct in my choice. After party Big One and I make a five-minute stop at Shoppers Drug Mart to pick up extra treats for the girlie who had to wait 30 minutes for her bag...and yet this was not the thing that worried me most. I couldn't count to 12 apparently, but this is something I'll have to remember in the future, not something I could help at the time. Math is not my strong point. (Note to self: remember to count all the children who attend a birthday party and subtract one for the birthday child.)

Big One was totally thrilled with the party, and with the extent of the Hannah Montana loot she received, although by the time she got home she admitted that HM was just a tv thing, not as big a thrill as all that ... but she was more thrilled that everyone enjoyed themselves and had a good time and were happy and no one fought, and it was excellent.

In two weeks, Little One's party. I cannot do the same thing for him and may have to have 12 children here at the house instead. That freak show hasn't yet begun, but you can bet it'll be a barn-burner.