Lizards and Siblings and Sugar Rushes, Oh My!

A child’s birthday party is now an occasion for some time away from the responsibilities. It is not the oasis that a child’s stretch at the grandparents can be, but it is a break to dawdle in a cafe for a few hours. The conversation gets to be distracted and meander wherever it wishes rather than aim to be inordinately adult. The parties are becoming a recurring visit with the same characters, snapshots of parents only known by their children’s names. A drop-off to get a sense of how close to the template the occasion is, a moment to get reacquainted and perhaps ensure contact info has been shared or updated and then the next few hours proceed.

If the party goes well, the kids let you know that they’d love to do that themselves. Over the past six years there have been gymnastics parties, indoor playgrounds, Chuck E Cheese, zoo visits, baking your own pizzas, a visit to a fish hatchery and the occasional family-hosted games efforts. Our variations on the theme included a science-oriented party where kids could make their own slime and do experiments with dry ice. (It did actually go over well because rather than despite the slime. With the kids, anyway.) Today’s party featured lizards and amphibians. 

Despite our impulse to cringe at the thought, we were intrigued and Gabriel was all in. Our arrival was a quick refresher on the familiar themes: the harried final preparations; the awkwardness amongst the kids about gifts before there was a designated place to deposit them; the uninvited 3-year-old sibling who has turned up for every classmate’s birthday party for the last 12 to 18 months. (I don't believe anyone has had the nerve to tell the children's father that only one of the kids was invited.) A more recent wrinkle in our party preparations is the dubious trust we place in Gabriel when he insists he knows the right present for his friend. Okay, but I was wary about his insistence that Ninja-go Lego was the ideal gift for the birthday girl. When getting the gift with him the day before I forgot to get a gift receipt, which probably earned me the standard disapproving sigh issued in all instance of paternal indifference, "Men."

Ahh, onto the lizard man.

He arrived in a pick up with his menagerie stashed in two Rubbermaid containers, one of which had holes punched in it for ventilation. My first thought was the resemblance - in both appearance and demeanour - the man bore to a lumbering, monosyllabic neighbour. 

He settled in and perched his containers on one of the fold-out tables that the community centre was replete with. With the preparations were completed in the next room and the kids streamed in one-by-one, he sat with arms crossed in front of the two empty benches the kids would perch upon for the showing of the animals. Terse would sum up his demeanour. He would pose no threat to Jack Hanna's reputation for charming audiences. Once the kids settled in, he gruffly insisted on silence to not disturb the animals by being too loud. I was left to wonder if he had the animals merely so he could insist on silence in every possible situation. "I have geckos here!! Shut up!", he could likely wail to neighbours who broached his tolerance for decibels. He did not quite go that far, but his opening statement expressing his requests for proper behaviour included an extended treatise on the difference between stories and anecdotes, which would start with "Once I..." or "My mommy...," and questions, which started with "Who, What, When, Where and Why." He would answer the questions. I decided to play it safe and forego asking, "How old" and "How big" questions. The distinction between questions and anecdotes had, I suspected, more to do with the one nerve the birthday brood of six-year-olds was standing on rather than the noise sensitivities of the reptilian.

Needless to say, the lizards and toad bridged the gap their handler was reluctant to broach. After the kids had the opportunity to see their first gecko, toad and snake of the morning, I concluded the handler was not going to get much friendlier or more talkative. Gabriel was caught up in the textures and wonder of each creature and tea beckoned. I took my opportunity to slip away.

At party's end, the adults agreed that the animal handler left them wanting for something more. I felt that he was more frightening that the animals could have possibly been. So far Gabriel hasn't expressed a desire for the same gent to do the party for his 7th birthday and the birthday girl's mother added that her daughter had actually gotten into LEGO Ninjago thanks to Gabriel's influence and that it was better for her than Barbie dolls. 

And for those things I am thankful.

Name Games

In preparation for Gabriel's fourth birthday party - sure to be a future post - I have had to distribute handwritten invitations to daycare friends that we do not have email addresses for.  I took care of that last week and the RSVP's have come in accept one. Last night, Gabriel mused about there being two boys with the same name at day care. With names trending the way they do, it would not take much for that to happen.  Given Gabriel's certitude that there are two boys that have the same name and the slow or completely absent RSVP, we had to weigh the possibility that I gave the wrong boy the invitation and that he and his parents, nonplussed by the invite by a boy he hardly knows, disposed of it.

After pondering our options, we decided to send the older boy - okay his parents - a letter indicating that we may have goofed with the invitations and given it to the wrong boy. We didn't wish to uninvite the child, but we kindly request an RSVP one way or another.  If we got a response indicating that the boy was not going to attend, we would be able to invite the boy that Gabriel had wanted to invite and had not yet RSVPed.

Convolutions galore?  Hang on.

I penned a light-toned, cordial note to the older child's parents with a self-effacing apology for any confusion and my aforementioned request for an RSVP.  We wanted to be able to confirm who was coming and, if possible, invite the same-named boy that I may have overlooked before it was two late. (I am already mentally writing the apologetic, sorry for the late notice introduction to any replacement invitation we issue.) I head to the daycare early, without Gabriel because it is his day off, to drop off my note. I stopped shortly inside the door trying to appear nonchalant and purposeful for my solo visit to the daycare to drop off my note.  I nodded confidently to parents I knew who were dropping off their kids while I hovered in a room other than Gabriel's looking for the name of this boy that we were convinced there were two of.

No such name.  After scanning the list four or five times to make sure that my bleary pre-dawn grasp of reading material and focus without my glasses was not completely failing me.  Finally, I gave up as my confidence in justifying my presence evaporated.  However, given the circumstances that brought me into the daycare with this note, I thought it best to spare anybody the trouble of bringing their morning routine to a halt to sort out what I was actually trying to explain with the birthday invites, the confusion over two kids with the same name and our need to get an RSVP and you have a sentence that is getting a little too long.  At 7:08 in the morning, it is hard to justify postponing someone's date with their morning coffee to describe and collate the layers of confusion that had fallen upon me and brought me to the daycare without my son.  In the face of that, I just feigned confidence that I knew what I wanted to do and that could possible, somehow achieve my assigned mission. The letter that was in my hand, hovering above the class list started making its way back to my pocket because there appeared to be no child to give it to. For confirmation, I asked one of the staff at the day care if there were two boys of this name. Nada. I turned for the door well after I gave the staff the wrong impression of me.

As I headed on to work, I was convinced that I had fallen victim to my son's first relationship with an imaginary friend.  We tried to sort through the mystery and discovered that it was simply a matter of Gabriel giving the name to a boy he did not know. He decided, on what grounds or formula I do not know, to just call this other, bigger boy that he regularly played with "Big H-----," after the younger boy, that I can confirm I did indeed invite.  He just has not RSVPed yet. If this older boy is at daycare tomorrow, I'll try to figure out what the boy's name is and take the opportunity to sort through the inner workings of Gabriel's mind to figure out why he reused the name on this other boy.

The party should be easy compared to this.