Pictures courteous of my mom and her triplet-unfriendly camera. Scenes: Hotel Room and Mall . . .
No, not their birthday. But with preschool comes friends and with little friends come birthday parties. So the complexities of gregariousness are growing roots in my boys' expanding worlds. Brace myself.
So far it's been just 4 parties and mostly for kids turning 5. Three year olds at parties are kind of funky. For one, a parent or two (in my case definitely two if all 3 boys go) must accompany the child. They are still too young for drop off (darn). I usually don't know the child or the parent(s) so enter my own social awkwardness. Sometimes the celebrated child is too shy to enjoy his guests. Sometimes your own children run around playing after the structure breaks up (presents opened, song sung, cake gobbled) so that we kind of lose track of the party goers. That only applies when the party is held in a large public space.
My favorite party so far was at a roller rink. I hadn't skated in about 30 years (shit, that's a really long time!) and of course this was a first time for my babies. What a blast, although we had almost zero contact with other guests. Brooklyn talks my ears off when I see her in Sira's class. OK, little one, OK, eat your lunch now . . . yes, we will come to your birthday party next year too . . .
My least favorite was at a Burger King indoor playground. I made the mistake of taking only Tsega because I couldn't reach the little girl's mama and the invite only indicated Tsega (it was his class mate). Turns out they were all welcome.
Anyway. Tsega is shy these days, not the same social king of yesterday. He's still king after warm up, but without his brothers warm up is hard to get to. He stayed on my lap, wouldn't go in the jungle gym thingy, and I didn't know anybody in this tight confinement and I felt kind of stupid. Maybe he was afraid of missing the cupcakes, because just after he had his, his mojo kicked in and he was off chasing and yelling after Emmy (Emmee! Emmeeeee! Emmilea!). For 10 minutes anyway 'cuz then party was over and there I was stuck, alone, with no way to lure Tsega out of gym. Oh wait, the goody bag! Tsega, I have a present for you! Yay, we can go now! Now he talks about Emmilea/Emmy everyday. Emmy gayle, Emmy gayle hair, Emmy no pushing, Tsega no pushing Emmy.
I go to these parties because I know that for my kids these parties, a little boring for me at times, are the best dang thing in the world. They talk about it before and after like the most fun, nothing beats it, happens at birthday parties. I also go because most kids won't and birthday parties need children. All kids from preschool class get invited to most, but we are either the only ones that come or one of very few(don't worry, enough family and friends do come!).
Check out that bored mama in the background (pink shirt, lifeless grimace) and her listless father and husband. Oops! Thad be me!
Last word. Last birthday party was for Gavin, Bereket's class mate. He wanted all 3 boys to come so came we did. I love this . . . As soon as we showed up, his hands embraced Bereket's face, he studied him a bit, and said, This one is Bereket! and led him off hand in hand. Better than most! Well, post Christmas didn't leave me in much buying mood, so I did sort of a no-no. I gave Gavin a previously owned toy. Although not used. On a whim just before Christmas, I saw these adorable race cars all groovy bamboo and boasting of sustainable this and that and so non-toxic you could eat it.
Half price! No way, these I had to get. Well, my boys weren't overly excited with so many cars already, and I got three, so I took the lime colored one and gifted it to Gavin. Feeling sheepish at the party, thinking the lack of plastic packaging will give me away, instead I enjoyed a few minutes of glory as I think he and his dad loved this gift the most. Little boy didn't study all sides of it with confused intensity and push it aside for his next gift like he did with the others. Nope, this perfect gift he met with a WHOAAA!!!! and glided it across the table with a waxed symbol of #5 riding shot gun before moving on. Dad made several statements expressing his love for the little car. OK, how fun is that, being the best gift giver? Is there no virtue in this, making a little boy and his father happy, or does this reveal my ever-need of wanting to be the coolest kid on the block?