Just Let Them Eat Cake

My son turned 12 today and I did not send cupcakes to school. His birthday celebration took place over the weekend and was decidedly low key– his father took him and two friends to a water park for the day – I stayed home, got my hair cut, took a nap and ordered pizza for the slumber party later that evening. What a difference 12 years makes!

I recall with embarrassment the early years of motherhood when every birthday was celebrated as if my first born was the only child ever to turn two, or three, or four. Back then, I would launch myself into birthday party hysteria, hosting gala themed events replete with costumed TV characters, back-yard sized bounce houses, and cutesy menus (who can forget the Thomas the Tank Engine "Mr. Conductor Peanut butter sandwiches" cut into train shapes?) I've actually lost sleep wondering what to put in the goodie bags!

And it's not just me. My friend threw a circus for her daughter’s 7th birthday. A circus. There was face painting. Clowns. Balloon animals. Live entertainment. Seriously? What on earth is wrong with all of us?

Of course, like it or not, eventually you are forced to scale back. As kids get older their guest list gets smaller, typically narrowing to a few best friends rather than the obligatory entire class. Your audience dwindles too; parents start dropping off rather than staying for the festivities, so there really is no one left to impress. And as a mom, your involvement in the whole affair becomes increasingly optional. Apparently not convinced of this, I popped my head into my son’s slumber party late Saturday night to ask if they needed anything. I couldn’t help but laugh as three pre-pubescent faces glared silently back at me as if I’d asked them to sign up for summer school math. I got the message – get lost mom. We’re fine.

And you know what? I’m fine with that too. Maybe kids aren’t the only ones who mature over time. Still, my daughter will be eight in May. I'm wondering if Justin Bieber does house parties...