Now, not one of those many stories about who is in charge of the GOP Rush Limbaugh or um, or somebody else. But kiddie birthday parties. (Pic is of Vivien’s 1st bday, which we had in Palm Springs the night before our wedding redux.) Most parties I go to the mom has the grand plan, and she is telling dad.
“Fill the ice chest”
“Time for pinata; what it’s not hung up yet, get to it, scrappy.” Stuff like that.
Well, my eye went to this past Sunday’s style section in the NY Times (since Monday cannot begin until I have) to a story about a dad who decided to start running the kiddie parties.
I asked Mark, “Gave you ever run a kiddie party?” Since he was married before and has three children from his previous marriage, I figured this issue had come up before.
“Well, in my experience, mothers don’t want to cede control of the kiddie party. They have an idea of where it should go, and if I didn’t buy the pink plates or whatever, the mother (notice how he tries to be diplomatic when speaking of his third wife) had in mind they get mad.”
Point well taken. I said, “Well why don’t you plan Vivien’s 4th birthday party?”
He said, “okay” with the same suspicion as if I had said, “Let’s ask that big busted 29-year-old woman to join our marriage.” Like if he said “yes,” he will get slapped.
I thought for a second. “Okay, if you didn’t pull it off, I would be pissed. If there were no balloons, pony, fairy clown, favors for the kids, jumping house, etc., I would probably come unglued.”
He nodded. “I can refill the ice chest,” he kindly offered.
So, like so many issues this is something I have to work on myself.