It was that time again: we had to go to a children's birthday party…
Before I had children of my own, I absolutely detested children's birthday parties.
So much noise (you can understand each other better in the average monkey enclosure), one big mess with an explosion of toys and cake remnants all over the place. And then I haven't even mentioned the stench that occasionally invades your nostrils when a child is being changed right under your nose, and the unsociable mothers with whom you can't exchange a word because they are constantly busy making sure their child doesn't harm the other children. What probably didn't help either is that I still regularly went out at that time and more often than not showed up at such a party with a hangover...
Things are completely different now, hardly any nights out anymore and children's birthday parties are still not my cup of tea, but it helps that it's now my own kids who are making the most noise and mess, and these days I also have to constantly follow them around to make sure they don't break anything. So I'm no longer sitting there, awkwardly looking for a conversation, staring into space and recovering from all the screaming and shouting.
Recently it happened again
We were invited to a party on a Saturday that was already way too busy. I agreed that my husband would stay home, so our youngest, who is one year old, could take her nap peacefully, and I would go to the birthday party with Jackie, our eldest who is 3. She should actually still take a nap in the afternoon, but she has recently decided that it's not strictly necessary anymore. And, to be fair, it worked out well since we had other plans later on. Now, it often happens that once we start driving, Jackie falls asleep. I had to prevent that, as she gets really cranky when she wakes up. So at times like that, I pull out all the stops (singing, clapping, asking lots of questions, and so on) to prevent it. We had just set off and were overtaken by some speed demon. Jackie asked me what that was. I explained that it was a car driving very fast, but she wouldn't believe it. It was a dragon. That spits pink fire. Okay, fine, whatever you say. I was indeed starting to wonder... Then we pass the sports center. 'Daddy works out here,' comes from the back seat. 'And mommy,' I reply. 'No, just daddy, otherwise we are home alone.' What logic. I keep quiet and we continue our drive. And that's where it goes wrong. Damn, I shouldn't keep quiet, I need to keep firing questions, keep her awake, and now I've been silent for far too long. I look back and sure enough, there she is, sleeping sweetly. Well, 'any sleep is good sleep,' I reassure myself, but meanwhile, I'm already dreading the moment she wakes up. Or even worse: when I have to wake her up.
After I've parked the car, I wait for about 10 minutes, because I just can't bring myself to wake her up. Oh, and I take 100 pictures of my sleeping beauty. After all, I can finally use the portrait mode on my iPhone, because normally she won't sit still for a second when I want to take a picture of her. Eventually, I gently wake her up and, indeed, the drama begins. Luckily, Jackie is very bribable and will do anything for cake (which she then never eats), so – as long as I carry her – she's willing to come inside with me. Just as I expected, after two bites of cake she says she's full and goes to play nicely with the Lego. At some point, I see her squatting over the Lego street and squatting means in Jackie's case; she's pooping! Indeed, it's a hit (yes, yes, when the weather gets nicer, we'll continue with the potty training). Damn, forgot the diaper wipes! For a mother of young children, this is about the same as leaving the house without a phone. Those things are indispensable! Luckily, there are plenty of moms who can provide me with more than enough wipes in no time. I decide to escape the chaos for a bit and also don't want the rest to enjoy this intense smell experience, so I take Jackie upstairs to change her. 'Mommy, I want to stay here,' says Jackie, 'it's so nice and quiet here.' Haha, a child of her mother! But once the diaper is changed, the Lego paradise downstairs is too tempting, so we return to the hustle and bustle and the screaming.
When we left the birthday party and were on our way to the restaurant where we had our next appointment, Jackie yells that she needs to vomit. 'She didn't eat that much cake', I think to myself. But since I don't have any sick bags in my car (of course, they're all in my husband's car) and I also forgot those damn diaper wipes, I decide to take this seriously right away. 'Do you really need to vomit, Jackie? Because then mom has to stop here,' I ask while we're driving on the highway. When she answers yes, I immediately pull over onto the emergency lane (sorry, police) and hold her so she can throw up in the ditch. She lets a white phlegm trickle from her mouth, after which she triumphantly yells that she has vomited. 'See mom, I had to vomit; white vomit.' Okay, from now on I apparently need to make a clear distinction between 'spitting' and 'vomiting'. I decide not to get angry about that 'white vomit action', because I'm secretly mostly relieved that she didn't really have to vomit. However, I do make it clear to her that mom can't just stop the car. Then I realize that she actually did very well at the birthday party. While some were screaming their heads off or hanging on the couch for the PlayStation, Jackie played very sweetly by herself with the Lego and I hardly had to look after her. 'Jackie, you were so sweet just now at the birthday party. I'm proud of you,' I tell her. To which she replies: 'Thank you, mom, but I did break the whole Lego street.' Soooo...
ILSE
