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Saturday, April 17, 2004
what does "party" mean to you?
I was just musing, as I sewed interfacings together for the three summer blouses I'm making for C, about the way my idea of what a party is has changed over the years. When I was a really young child, I don't know that I thought about parties much, but if I did, I probably thought of classroom parties, with Room Mother cupcakes and holiday-appropriate decorations and crafts, and that "school day but not REALLY a school day" kind of feeling. In early adolescence -- say, from fifth grade through junior high, I never actually HAD parties, or went to any that I remember, but in my fantasies, they were frighteningly like something out of a 1950's teen novel. I always envisioned soft lighting, and slow/peppy music, and slow dancing with my head on a boy's shoulder (preferably the boy would be taller than me so that I didn't have to stoop over like an elderly woman to do this, but this was about as likely as the rest of the scenario -- that is to say, completely and utterly improbable). Pitifully, I did actually plan a few parties during this time but they never materialized.
Then in high school, I actually did have several parties, and they generally went as follows: Friends, generally of both genders, would come over after school or in the middle of an afternoon; we would have pizza and Pepsi, maybe watch a movie, and generally end up going for a walk before everyone left, sometimes at midnight or two a.m. Occasionally there would be a bit of drama at a party -- a couple would be made or broken, for example. Once I was sitting by the road and got a foxtail in my ear -- THAT was pretty dramatic. (just in case you ever wondered why country people have a reputation for being simple.)
Early in my marriage a party generally meant a church group or a group of women, over at someone's house for a baby shower or a birthday party for anyone in the congregation whose birthday fell in December, or some such thing. White elephant exchanges. Highly competitive games involving leg-crossing and safety pins. (for some GREAT baby shower ideas, check out what Dawn did for her sister's shower. Wish I was so creative.)
And then there's the past eight years or so. The word "party" instantly brings to mind the following: Crepe-paper streamers, of which we always buy far, far too many. Balloons, and if we really splurge we get the helium setup from Costco. An innovatively-decorated cake (today's depicted the Battle of Hoth; in the past we have created army battles, horse corrals, Blue and Steve, a lunar landscape, and various other kid-related scenarios with frosting and toys). A similarly innovative piņata. A crowd of children running wild. A lot of stress, and a lot of fun, and that moment when I finally abandon my mental image of what was supposed to go on, and enjoy the event for what it is.
And of course there's the realization that I have progressed past another milestone on the way to watching my children become adults and drive away, one at a time, to make their own lives wherein I'm just an accessory. We always spend the last few days before each birthday emphasizing the fact that the child hasn't passed into the new number quite yet -- so, although his party was today, our boy won't actually be eight until Wednesday, and we're holding on to every last minute of seven as hard as we can.
