My Boys Will Never Be Cool

Nor will they will never be considered "in-the-know" by their future primary school peers, which probably means they won't be real popular.

And that's not only cool with me, I'm rather relieved to know it.

How do I know my boys will never be cool, you ask? Well, believe it or not, I realized it on the 'Happy Third Birthday' party circuit that now seems to be in full swing. All of Ramekin's nursery friends have been turning three, so the party invitations have started flying. And we're only two parties in this new year, one last Saturday and one yesterday afternoon, and based just on these two parties alone I now fully understand what I do and don't want for my little boys.

I took Ramekin to Birthday Party 1 last weekend. It was the party that made me realize what I'm up against, what my boys are up against.

When Ramekin and I arrived at the designated hour for his nursery-mate's party, it initially seemed like it was going to be a typically sweet party for a newly-turned three year old: there were a few crepe streamers and some balloons scattered throughout the living room, and the center of the room had been cleared for small people. But then I got a good look at the little birthday girl, "Zara". She was in a new party/club dress that matched her mother's dress, right down to the fancy textured nylons and glittery eye makeup, and was the proud owner of a new Bratz doll chair which nobody else was allowed to sit in.

(Shudder. I have to admit that Bratz dolls and related paraphernalia makes me cringe when I see it advertised or on the shelves. In fact, when I was shopping for a birthday present for Zara, I deliberately avoided that row of misogynist crap. Who knew? I suppose this means the cute jungle puzzle game I bought for her will be sneered at and probably re-gifted on the party circuit. Oh well.)

Anyway, Zara and three of her girl friends from the neighborhood who had arrived early were eating rather large individual bags of crisps (potato chips) while a Dora the Explorer video played loudly on the television. Ramekin had no interest in the video, as he'd never seen Dora before, but he desperately wanted some crisps. But the little gang of girls weren't sharing, and there was no other food out yet. After about five minutes of desperately watching the girls eat their crisps and growing increasingly upset about it, Zara finally offered him a bag at the prompting of her aunt. While I wasn't enthused about the crisps, I let him eat them, save for the handfuls that Zara started forcibly snatching from him when she finished her own bag.

That act also proved to be a sign of things to come.

When all the kids had finally arrived, there were about a dozen little ones ranging in age from two and a bit to four, plus several eight year old siblings. Zara's mom suggested that all the kids sit in a circle on the floor for the first party game, Pass the Parcel.

Now Ramekin (and I) had played Pass the Parcel at another birthday party a few months back, and we'd enjoyed it because it was done beautifully. Many, many, many layers of colorful tissue paper were involved, and in each layer a very small jelly candy for the lucky child who got to find it when the music stopped. And the music for the game was typically sweet and child-friendly, and carefully monitored by the birthday girl's parents so that each and every child had a turn before any child got a second turn, and so on through a third full round. Because the kids were all treated 'the same', they were happy.

So I figured that this would be a good opening game for the wee ones at Zara's party.

It was not to be.

The first shock was the music itself: club music. As in music you'd expect to hear if you were a teenager or young adult and went out dancing in a nightclub or a bar. And the young woman running it, presumably Zara's aunt, was more interested in wriggling about to the music that was blasting out of the stereo than in keeping track of whose little hands the parcel was in when she stopped it occasionally, which meant that some children got several goes while others had none. Sigh. Not to mention that the parcels (there were three put in consecutively) had fewer layers than there were children. And the treats varied widely in toddler appreciation terms: a balloon here; a packet of jelly babies there; a large chocolate bar here; a small chocolate bar there; and the center 'prize treat' of each package was extremely 'girly', in spite of the fact that a third of the guests were boys. And almost every time the music stopped, Zara or one of her little neighborhood girl friends would lunge for the package if it was within arms length, wailing loudly that they should have it. Or they would just refuse to pass the parcel, and hold onto it tightly while a parent tried to wrestle it away.

Needless to say, the game made the party crawl by, and I was quite relieved when the Pass the Parcel game finally ran out of parcels. Ramekin was very confused about what was going on and near tears at this point; several other children had in fact broken down over the game because it had gone on for much too long and/or they hadn't gotten to unwrap a layer; and I was tired of watching Zara and her friends turn each layer's unveiling into a wrestling match. I understand the point of the game is for children to share and be excited for themselves and each other when the music stops; that only works, however, if the game is run in such a way so that everybody gets to win, especially when the players are primarily two and three years old!

Anyway, Zara's music-loving aunt finally announced that we would move on to the second party game, which, coincidentally, was also the 'last' scheduled game for the party: Statues. Zara's aunt announced that she would play music for the kids to dance to and that when the music stopped everyone was supposed to freeze. Anyone who moved would be out, and this would be repeated until there was a winner.

Another mother I am friendly with, C, (and I will say here that it was C's daughter whose birthday I took Ramekin to yesterday afternoon) and I just looked at each other and shook our heads. We knew this wasn't going to go well. So far the music had proved to be rather, errr, inappropriate for such a little kid's birthday party, and we knew most of the kids weren't going to understand the rules so quickly.

Sure enough, the only kids who seemed to know how to play were Zara and her little gang of girl friends from her neighborhood, as well as the sibling eight year olds in attendance. The rest of the wee ones just kind of looked confused, and several quickly ended up in tears again. And then, much to my dismay, the song that started the game off was 'Shut Up' by the Black Eyed Peas.

Oh. Yes. It. Was!

Now I actually rather enjoy a wide range of dance club music, including stuff put out by the Black Eyed Peas, on occasion, but this was not one of those occasions. Maybe I'm a party pooper, but I don't really want my two and a half year old trying to sing a song whose main lyrics are 'Shut Up'.

So, after quietly snarking to C about the 'game' and the music as it progressed, and watching more meltdowns develop as wee children were told they were 'out', I was incredibly relieved when the 'game' finally ended with two of the eight year olds, a boy and a girl, declared the winners.

What a surprise, no?

Zara's mom then announced it was time for food, and out came plates and trays of . . . wait for it . . .

Grown up food.

Yes, grown up food. Food that little toddlers, notoriously picky eaters, weren't going to want to eat, save for the big bowl of French fries. There were no little sandwiches; no cheese; no fruit or vegetables; no healthy choices; no toddler-oriented finger foods at all. Ramekin just stared at the food table from my arms, then finally pointed at the French fries. And that's all he ate, and I counted the minutes until we could leave without causing a stir.

Oh, and we were the first to leave, a full half hour after the supposed end time for the party. And the moms of Zara's little gang of girl friends all expressed surprise that we were "leaving so soon". And I noted that the nursery moms quickly started gathering up their stuff when they saw me saying my goodbyes.

The last hurrah was Zara's goodbye to Ramekin: she ripped the small party bag that he'd just been handed out of his hands –-I'd sent him over to her to say 'thank you'; my mistake-- yelling that it was hers and that he couldn't have it, and ran off with it. Her parents chased her down and forcibly wrestled it out of her hands while she rolled on the floor clutching it to her chest and screaming that it was hers. (This after two hours of grabbing balloons, foods, and anything else 'fun' out of her little guests' hands.) I do have to wonder if that little scene was repeated with each and every child's departure.

Once in the car, I discovered that along with some more chocolate bars, the party bag contained a cheap plastic toy gun. I confiscated it when Ramekin wasn't looking.

Oh the joys.

Needless to say, I'm rather dreading running into Zara's parents at the nursery school

Funnily enough, I wasn't dreading Birthday Party 2 which took place yesterday at a children's play barn across the county. As I said, C, the mother of a just-turned little three year old, a sweet little girl named 'Olive', and I get along rather well. We run into each other about town a lot, and her parents actually live in our new village, so I hope to be seeing more of them this year.

The party was scheduled for 3:00 – 5:00, and Ramekin just as his best little buddy from nursery was arriving, 'Kolby'. There were no delays at the front desk: the children were checked in promptly, little hands were stamped, shoes were removed, the birthday girl was greeted, and off they all ran into the big soft multi-level play area.

Ramekin had a blast: he ran; he jumped; he climbed; he scaled the big slides; he slid down them; he jumped in the ball pit; he chased his buddy around; he got chased around; he waved at me from the different levels, beaming from ear to ear. At times he would exit one of the play area's 'doors', run to me grinning madly, arms outstretched to give me a huge hug, and then he would run and dash back into it via another 'door'. And sometimes he would run out, give me a big hug, and then ask for some juice, drink half a glass, then run back in.

I have to admit, I was absolutely thrilled and touched to be getting the 'hugs on the run', just thrilled. I'm not Ramekin's 'favorite' parent most of the time, probably because I'm currently the stay-at-home-parent and that’s just how it seems to work, so I cherish the hugs and cuddles and spontaneous 'I love yous' from him.

So Ramekin ran and ran and ran for almost an hour and a half while I chatted to Kolby's mom and a few other parents, and then we herded the children into a separate party room for food and cake and music.

And guess what?

We had children's music! Yes, proper children's music. I looked at C and said 'I really really like the music, C.' She just laughed. She knew.

We had children's food at a fully set up children's table! There were plates full of quartered sandwiches with a variety of kid-friendly fillings; bowls of grapes; bowls of cherry tomatoes; bowls of cheese squares; bowls of orange cheeto-ey things; bowls of ringy things kids like; etc; and juice in plastic cups. And after the 'healthy' stuff was eaten, a few plates of cookies and mini cupcakes came out.

The cake then came out and everybody sang Happy Birthday to Olive. Parents chatted. The kids danced around to music they all knew whilst playing with the balloons. And everybody was happy. There was no grabbing of other children's things. There was no wailing for what someone else had. It was just lovely. And when we finally left around 5:30, Ramekin was handed a party bag that contained a few small treats and a piece of birthday cake. At my reminder, he thanked Olive nicely and they beamed at each other for a moment.

Now Birthday Party 2 was my idea of a great birthday party for three year olds. It's the kind of party I would like to throw for Ramekin in the spring when he turns three: fun and childlike, totally unhip. And the total antithesis of Birthday Party 1.

Of course I want my boys to be well liked and have friends, but more than anything I want them to be happy. What parent doesn't want these things for their children? But I don't think happiness comes from having their childhood accelerated into young adulthood with completely inappropriate clothes, makeup, music, toys, etc. while they're still so little. I don't want my boys to turn into three year olds going on seventeen. I want them to 'be three' and enjoy being three.

Is that so wrong?

I totally get that my boys will not be popular if I have my way on this. They're not going to know all the 'hip' songs and hip dance moves by the time they're five; they're not going to be mtv- and other music video channel- aficionados as toddlers; and they're going to have manners if it kills me.

And I do suspect it just might . . . sigh . . . especially if its the parents of their peers that are pushing their kids into teenage territory, or allowing it to happen with a shrug of the shoulders, while they're still so young.

But I do think that if I can do this, if I can keep my boys fairly age-appropriate while they're growing up, I'll be doing them a favor in the long run. I'm determined to teach them that popularity and coolness should not be the end all, be all goals in life. It's a merry-go-round you can't get off until it's too late, and then where are you exactly? Nowhere.

Now if I could only figure out how I'm going to do it...
My lovely little boy who should remain a little boy for as long as he can.