This past weekend we went to the Ramshead Tavern again and saw the Roches. It was an amazing, fabulous show. After the show I started thinking about the difference in going out to see this show, as opposed to when I first started to see shows in the mid to late 80s.
1980’s — Tickets - $15 bucks max
2000’s — Tickets - $35 bucks ouch
1980’s — Go out at 10
2000’s — Go to the 7 o’clock early show
1980’s — Stand, smooshed up against a bunch of sweaty people
2000’s — Sit, at a reserved table and be served food
1980’s — Lots of dyed hair
2000’s — Lots of gray hair, and chrome-dome baldies
1980’s — Smoky room
2000’s — Smoking not allowed
1980’s — Try to get someone to serve my underage-self beer
2000’s — Skip the drinks, head right for the creme brulee cheesecake, get a stomach ache
1980’s — Get mad at the skinhead girl who took my spot by the stage and threatened to beat me up
2000’s — Get mad at the waiter who is taking forever to bring me my check
1980’s — Come home smelling from all the cigarettes and everyone else’s sweat soaked into my shirt
2000’s — Come home smelling almost as good as when I left
1980’s — Home by when?
2000’s — Home by 10
1980’s — Lots of dancing, moshing, or whatever you call it
2000’s — Signs on the wall say dancing not allowed (fire hazard)
Not that I haven’t seen a few shows in the 2000’s that haven’t included smoky rooms, getting smooshed, and dancing. It’s just nice occasionally to have a grown-up kind of thing to see. Except for the not dancing thing, that is just plain wrong. Then again, some of those chrome-dome baldies dancing, could be hazardous to one’s visual health.
When a couple is planning to have a child they often expect to spend money on some major things. Doctors appointments. Classes and othe activities. Clothes. Bikes. Braces. Perhaps, a car for a lucky teenager.
No where in my wildest dreams, however, did I think that parents would spend so much on birthday parties every year. When I was a kid, we were happy with a couple of slices of pizza at a pool party. Not these kids today. Moon Bounces! Clowns! Petting Zoos! A simple home party isn’t enough anymore.
Today I was at a nice home party for a 4-year-old. The mother was a preschool teacher, and had some crafty activities for the kids that the kids all seemed to like. It was a fairly small party which was pleasantly more intimate (for my guy, who can be quite shy, a smaller party is a big plus.) A woman who attended the party with her daughter was telling us about some of the kid parties she has been attending. She said with most parties - “expect to spend a minimum of $400″. She recently attended a party for a girl (elementary age) where 30 kids had attended and the parents had spent $1200 on the whole party. And she said, “…and this child is by no means spoiled!”.
Have we reached a point where the simple party with just a few kids is not good enough? Have our values changed so much as a society in America, that the old standards that I grew up with of what a birthday party should be, are null and void?
I wonder if those parents know what they are setting themselves up for. That girl with the $1200 birthday party is probably going to have some very grand expectations of what her wedding will be like. Ouch for them in the pocketbook.
Although you will never read this, I thought I’d write a little tribute to you on your turning 4.
Wow, you are a big 4 year old! And you certainly are bigger, but big is all relative I suppose… you are pretty small for your age but I’m not complaining. I’m happy you aren’t much more than 30 pounds so I can still carry you around easily. You keep me warm on cold days. It’s so funny how you insist how big you are, sometimes even bigger than me.
You started out truly big, much bigger than any of your half-brothers ever were, at 8 pounds 10 ounces. You went from 85th percentile to 10th in 4 years! Little though you may be, you are mighty, a big tough macho guy on the inside.
You are all ready to go to work with daddy to paint houses. You are all ready to go to work being a builder. You are all ready to marry your 5 year old friend and “have a builder family”. I don’t know how she feels about that yet. And you wanted to be a big real construction worker for Halloween, not a “pretend” one like Bob the Builder.
From before you could walk, you have been obsessed with cars and trucks, and that hasn’t changed much, although your focus has refined itself a bit. It’s all about construction and construction trucks, now. Road paving is like… the coolest thing to you, but I’m a female and I can only understand why just slightly. I am happy to say your new obsession with dinosaurs is a bit refreshing. I find a lot of the superhero interest a bit disturbing. Just don’t try to jump off any buildings in an attempt to fly anytime soon, or take steroids when you get to high school.
You are kind of in your own world and difficult to reach sometimes. I guess that makes you just like your mother and your father, we were both like that. Somehow though, you seem to hear very clearly when I mention chocolate mousse. Funny how that works.
You are getting bolder than you used to, and your shyness is waning. You will actually swing on a swing now (instead of wanting to just hang there!) I see that as a very healthy improvement.
You are so very well behaved at school. The teachers think you are the easiest thing. So quiet, one teacher says (if they only knew the other side of you!) You were so well behaved at the restaurant at your birthday dinner, eating you miso soup and rice and trying to use the chopsticks like a grownup, the waitress complimented you. I wish I could bring her home, maybe you would eat like a gentleman at home more often.
You still are a mama’s boy and I love that. I love how you insist on holding my hand all the time. I love how you always want me to get in your little toddler bed with you, to talk with you every night. And I do it because you are so cute, even though I really, really, really don’t fit.
I never worry about you running away in crowds. You are a million times less destructive to our home’s personal property than you were a year ago, and a zillion times less destructive than 2 years ago. Our furniture, books, cds, and electronic items thank you wholeheartedly.
You would be almost perfect if you would just make up your mind that the potty is the place to poop. But every diamond has their flaw I suppose. Just figure it out before you go to college, okay?
I worry about you sometimes. Sometimes with reason, sometimes without, but that is my job. So far you are pretty darn good kid — in spite of me, or because of me, who knows. I am very proud of you.
I think I will keep you.
Today T turned into a big 4 year old (I’ll get all gushy and sappy about that on a future post). The whole week was spent visiting with relatives and getting ready for his birthday party with 8 other little “screaming mimis” at a local kid’s gym, Rebounders (I say “Screaming mimis”, and sure some of them do scream a bit, but really they are all very nice kids).
At first I was a little hesitant to have a party of that size in a place that I paid for, and make such a big deal. After all, he is just 4! Could I be setting myself up to out-do last year’s party, every year? By the time he is 18, will I feel pressured to top myself by hiring the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra and fireworks?
Most of the books I read say that you should have 1 child per every year of life, so a 4 year old should have 4 kids, a 5 year old should have 5, etc. I think it’s pretty sound advice, but I happily ignored it.
The fact was, though, that there was NO WAY I could have more than 2 kids in our little tiny rowhouse. And being that some of the boys are… well, how can I say this politely… a bit busy and active? I didn’t want to inflict the boys’ “busyness” on even a good friend, who offered her house, even though she would likely have forgiven me for the havoc. So I went whole hog and invited a lot of his friends.
As it turned out, Rebounders is a great place for a party. All the kids loved it and they burned off a lot of steam jumping on trampolines and tumbling around. And the greatest thing about having a party not at your house? The cleanup is a lot easier (same with summer birthdays outside). Sure, we cleaned up everything ourselves except the cupcake crumbs that landed on the floor, but that place was in a lot better condition than our house would have been. The mess of 9 kids under 5 was contained in an area that required little cleanup.
I have to say, my son has made out like a bandit. He has more presents than he knows what to do with. I think I will be stashing a few a way for a while, because he is simply overwhelmed (removing them from their boxes and assembling them though — my god, that is a job in itself! Everything is so wired down that it takes forever to get it out of the packaging).
And, because of all the October birthdays shared with other kids, he had a little party at school (not my idea). Then the next day, he had his party with his friends at Rebounders. THEN tonight, he will have a birthday dinner out with his family. That’s like, 3 days of party party party. By the time he is 18 let’s hope it’s the 1 day of birthday instead of the 8 days of Hannukah.
There is nothing to me more beautiful than a sleeping child. Specifically, my child. He is whine-free, angelic looking, content.
Or, for that matter, a sleeping husband. My husband.
The trouble is, I don’t particularly like being alone. On the other hand, I crave being alone. Conflict, right? But I have found a solution — having them home and ASLEEP, where I know exactly where they are.
Late at night, they are peaceful and not bugging me. I can get everything I need to get done (like balance the checkbook); the house is quiet, and no one is interrupting me, not even the phone. And I can look in on them (lovingly), whenever I want.
No wonder I have insomnia.
I’m not the kind of person who is that into babies. Like other women, I think they are cute and all — but I am not obsessed with them and constantly wanting to make more. I’m more of a kid person, I like having someone I can talk to, rather than oogle at and make goo-goo noises at.
Some women are so into babies, they have to go to unusual measures to satisfy the urge. I remember several years ago I was at Goodwill digging through the baby bin of baby clothes next to a woman who was looking for preemie clothes for her baby. I felt a little bad for her having a preemie, until I realized she was actually looking for preemie clothes for her baby DOLL. Something probably not unlike this:
Creeply realistic, huh?!!
A few of my friends are obsessed with having more babies, despite the fact that they are clearly in over their heads with the ones they have (by my estimation). My friend Emma writes it off to a biological urge. She says that although intellectually she knows she can’t handle having more than the two she has, still has these urges to make more because, she says, “they are so damn cute”. Thankfully, she has me to remind her that she will have a complete breakdown if she has any more, and plus I have enough trouble chasing down the two that she has already (just kidding, Emma).
I was never as bad off as Emma. Although I wanted one or two kids, I never was obsessed with having them, even as a child. I was a little girl I wasn’t that into baby dolls, I much preferred my stuffed animals and barbies. At the park the other day, I did see a little girl lifting up her shirt and “nursing” her stuffed animal and I thought, well that one will be a good little breeder when she grows up.
But something happened recently. I’ve been having thoughts. Odd thoughts. Baby thoughts! I think it is because one of my friends just had one and sent me pictures of the baby from Germany and they were very sweet pictures. Or maybe it is because next month I will be 36 and perhaps my eggs are sending me a little message like, we are getting a little old and past due here, you better do something with us while you can.
I know that I am not up to having another one. I could handle childbirth again. But several years deprived of sleep? Or the horrible postpartum depression? I feel like I am just starting to get a life of “my own” back. While some moms don’t miss the solitude and are happy with a houseful of cheerful chirping voices, that person is not me. I would be a worse mother to my son, overwhelmed by it all.
Still my husband would probably love to have more. Personally I think he is crazy. He has the 4 already, I think he would keep going until he is 90. He likes making kids. I have no idea where we’d put them or how we could afford them. And of course he is 51, at some point he might like to retire!
I do have another really bad ulterior motif for wanting another one. Specifically, a girl. We always get into a debate about whether having girls or boys is easier. Everyone has their opinion on this, but I suspect girls are, and he thinks boys are. I think, what does he know, he has all boys and has never raised a girl. Having a little girl might help settle that debate!
…Of course, that is a terrible reason to have a kid. But, I so like being right! I guess I will never have that one settled. I think my husband only makes boys, anyhow.
Mr. Guy Laroche,
This…
… is not high French fashion. This is Auschwitz.
You must not be paying your models enough because, damn, she sure looks like she is starving. Take her off the runway and take her to a restaurant. Pronto. Or a good mental health professional. Because, we wouldn’t want our kids to think the Aushwitz look is fashionable, would we?
Oh wait, you died in 1989. Now isn’t this falling on deaf ears.
Sincerely,
Cranky Mommy
The commencement of preschool has been very beneficial… never mind my son, who likes school… to ME. My house is cleaner. I am more sane. I’m caught up on my paperwork. All is well.
Trouble is, that this woman needs something to be wound up over something, in the lack of anything real to get freaked out about.
For example: this week. Monday I went to pick up my son from preschool a little before 3. I was running late but I knew I could make it there just in time to get him. Halfway down Northern Parkway, more than a mile from school waiting for the light to change, my car DIES. It stalled, the oil light and battery light went on. And I was stranded, so I thought, in the middle lane of Northern Parkway with my hazards on and no cell phone (absolutely no use if it is not charged and left at home) FREAKING OUT like an idiot trying to figure out what to do. Not my best moment.
Thankfully someone pulled over and lent me their cell, and my friend went and picked up my son at school. And strangely, my car started up and was fine just a few minutes later. And it’s fine. I got to my son’s school before my friend did. I had a panic attack over nothing.
And THEN, yesterday, at lunchtime, my fridge was making noises. I opened both the freezer side and the refrigerator side and neither felt particularly cold and I couldn’t get it to kick on. I freaked out once again, calling a repairman and ran much of my perishables to my neighbors. By the time I got back, my fridge was PERFECTLY FINE. Running just great. Went and got my food, cancelled the repairperson who must have thought I was the biggest fool he’d ever met. At least my neighbor already knows I’m nuts so I didn’t shock her.
Which goes to prove that the person who is used to freaking out over life’s little headaches, presented with a chaos-free vaccuum — will just have to fabricate the chaos herself. When life’s a little too smooth, gotta invent some bumps, right?
Go over here for an enchanting tale (mostly accurate).
While watching Blue’s Clues:
T: Joe likes to play Blue’s Clues, just like Steve.
But Steve McNair is one of the guys who plays for the Baltimore Ravens. Do you know who Steve McNair is?