With every new experience, positive and negative, there is an opportunity for the gathering of wisdom. With that being said, I feel the need to document a portion of the latest set of epiphanies that came with my youngest child and only daughter’s 11th birthday bash.
First, let me say that the party experience was very positive. It was, in addition, a great reality check and a bucket of cold-water kind of sign to start paying attention to the various nuances, speed bumps, perceptions and individual realities of the typical tween. With my son, who is a slightly shy and not so social, old soul of a kid, I was not jarred into a trip down memory lane as I have been with my daughter. As David, Margo and I re-capped the party over and over this weekend, with each other as well as some of the other parents, a rush of long tucked away memories came to me.
I remember feeling like the outcast and wanting so much to be part of the popular clique. Assuming that what the one mean girl said (and did) to me surely represented the entire student body’s feeling about me. Its funny…I remember with a lot of clarity one of the really nice girls who was in the “in-crowd”. Her name was Krista Borgelt. She was pretty and wholesome looking. She had a red head’s complexion and long mousey colored hair with waves in it. She was smart and well liked, and a cheerleader, which at the time meant you were of the royal executive branch of the popular girls. I remember seeing her the first time on the first day of first grade. She wore a pink gingham dress that had a smocked bodice. For my whole life, every time I see pink gingham or a smocked bodice I hear her name in my head and see her face. I remember her all the way through high school graduation. Its funny that what goes unnoticed by one person can have such a life long impact on another. It was not her clothes, her smarts or her beauty that ever stood out in my eyes; in fact I think she was pretty average in that regard. It was that she was so incredibly nice to every one. Meanwhile, I can only vaguely see the faces of the others. When I close my eyes I can see a blurry crowd of kids in the morning gathering before classes began each day. I can see the wood like paneling of the walls, the clock, the weighty glow put off by the florescent lighting; the general white noise put off by the morning chatter of the entire student body, and smell that steamy smell I think we all remember wafting from the cafeteria in the early morning. But no body’s name, save maybe a few.
My junior high was made up of seventh and eighth graders. Fifth grade was still elementary school and in a brief and weak effort to desegregate, all of Austin’s sixth graders went to one of the citywide 6th Grade Centers. The cliques began to form in the sixth grade, but I was pretty unaware of it. I was too busy developing my look. Stylishly parting my hair down the middle and tightly bobby pinning it just on either side. It was a good look, especially when worn with my gianormous aviator style glasses. Toward the end of the year I started getting phone calls from a couple of the “it” girls regarding what we were all going to wear the next day (no uniforms back then). The laugh was always on me, because of course, I would show up wearing the settled upon dress of the day and everyone else was well coordinated in bell bottomed jeans and peasant shirts in like colors. So, by the time I hit the doors of Murchison Junior High, I was convinced I was a dork and would always be that. What rolls off one kid, sticks hard to another.
Even so there was always hope. I wanted to be part of that cool crowd all my school days and it pained me so right up through high school. I wasted all that time missing so much of the fun while pining for the moment they would finally see my value and invite me in. I was convinced that the group spent great amounts of time forming pacts, scheming and plotting on ways in which to keep me out. It was surely their primary focus, but I still waited like a puppy dog at the door, only now with the addition of a mouth full of braces with 5 rubber bands up front!
Flash forward to now, please! God gave me a daughter who is everything I wasn’t on the social circuit. When she was born, I promised myself I would offer her parenting that would build her into a confident, capable young lady who knew how to say no, who would be friend to all and ALWAYS be nice and include everyone in her world. No lying, no gossip, no bad mouthing others, ever accepting of every one’s individualities, strengths and weaknesses. I pray everyday that she remembers to live in this manner. She requires a great amount of the spotlight, I know, and seems to receive it. I have talked with her about the “power” she holds and the examples she is thus obligated to set. She will not always have the leading role and she should use her current position responsibly. And please, never be mean just to be mean. Never squash any body just to make yourself feel good.
Now, about the party! Margo has been starry eyed about a dance party since she was lucky enough to get to tag along with her brother to a 6th grade soiree last year. Experiencing a Bat mitzvah this year only compounded her desire for an evening that paid extensive tribute to her lucky existence on this Earth! In a weak moment I agreed to propose a party to her dad, who, much to my surprise, whole heartily approved. Over a month’s time she and I knocked heads about the party plans, with me constantly reminding her she is not having a Quincesniera, turning 16, being presented as a debutant, having her wedding and that Episcopalians do not have Bat mitzvahs.
The plans were finally settled upon. I got my garage cleaned out, which turned out to be surprisingly gratifying, proving once more that I have become my mother. I thought incredibly hard about keeping everyone entertained, so as not to become bored and thus destructive. I boy proofed by hiding skate boards, getting rid of sharp objects and tucking away any items that could be converted into swords or light sabers or as a means of beating each other over the heads just for kicks. I based my numbers on the 60% rule of thumb, expecting roughly 30 of the 50 invitees to accept. It was really exciting (and a little frightening) to have almost all 50 accept! So we expanded the party space by cleaning up the motor court, too. Of course, that only made me disturbingly giddier and even a bit frisky! To further drive home the theme, hats were hung on the freshly painted garage wall, the disco ball was perched, music was chosen and activities were settled upon by our diva.
Activities were to have a contest to see who could fit the most marshmallows in their mouth, who could effectively whistle after eating a powdered donut, a popcorn passing relay and eating apples dangling from strings while blindfolded with hands behind the back. I’m not sure what the psychological significance of all the food oriented activities means, but that’s a whole other bottle of wine for later. Ultimately, I ran out of time so the apples did not get strung and fortunately for my dogs’ digestive tracts, there weren’t enough interested in participating in the relay and it was cancelled at the last moment. Even with the cutting out of games, every one appeared to have a great time. Some were even reluctant to leave, which made me feel like we did a good job. David and I stealthily and openly at times supervised along with some other kind parents who agreed to stay as back up. It is interesting to note, that even with our eyes on them, some destruction did ensue. But, I expected that. They are only 10 and 11years old once, and so I am good with it all. By dinnertime on Saturday we finished the clean up and started a list in case we were ever crazy enough for a next time.
I will now provide the initial list of lessons learned, although I’m sure more items will come to me during my many trips to the water closet in the night. Here they are, so far:
1. Carbonated drinks? Even the mildest mannered, well-behaved child will shake and spray.
2. Marshmallows? Guess what! If you lick it and throw it, it will stick…forever.
3. Inflatable toys can and will bloody a nose.
4. When in doubt, some one will fall (or be pushed) into the pool.
5. The Birthday Girl will cry (for unreasonable reasons, at least in my opinion).
6. Just because you provide trashcans, doesn’t mean they know what they are for.
7. The honoree will say she’ll help clean up, but will sleep most of the day after, or at least until the clean up is finished.
8. You will need a putty knife to clean the floor, walls and driveway (and possibly the ceiling).
9. A powerful nozzle for the hose is recommended if not required for clean up (and possible crowd control).
10. No matter how hard she begs; do not let her spread confetti, especially if you have foolishly provided marshmallows. Refer to comments in item 2.
As most of you know, we came to Presbyterian School just last year. Margo was so uneasy about leaving friends she had been with from the time she was 2years old, but it only took about 2 minutes for her fears to wash away. We have such a great class of 5th graders and we loved watching them all interact at the party. Each child cares genuinely for the other. They take care of each other, and when one child is distressed they all rush to that child and try to minister to them, never refusing to give up. The kids have their own groups within the whole with which they feel most comfortable, but they still have a bond with every one of their fellow classmates. It was a thrill watching them Friday night. Thank you so much for sharing them with us.
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