Ten little girls sat on folding chairs under my porch awning, all excited for my daughter Lily’s fifth birthday celebration. Each girl wore a sparkling tiara, while Lily sported a long blonde wig, declaring it made her resemble a “glamorous princess.” The temperature soared to 95 degrees.
I often think that hell might actually resemble a little girl’s birthday party.
My partner Sam and I were vastly outnumbered, and the kids were well aware of it. They frequently split into groups, dashing between the yard and the house. At times, they would swarm around the birthday cake, overwhelming their tiny fingers as they eagerly clawed at the frosting. The entire event was a constant battle to maintain their attention and prevent them from either digging up plants in the yard or exploring the bathroom.
As I prepared the princess piñata, I turned my back for just a moment. When I looked around again, the girls had managed to decimate the birthday cake, leaving behind a gooey mess of frosting and drool.
The piñata was meant to resemble Cinderella, but honestly, it just looked like a woman in a blue dress dangling from a rope. With the best intentions, we were about to hang a representation of a woman and let the kids whack it with sticks until it burst open. Quite disturbing when you think about it.
Earlier that day, I asked Lily why she wanted to hit Cinderella, and she simply replied, “She’s a bad princess.” I probed further, “Is that what you do to bad princesses?” She looked back at me with her big, bright eyes and said, “Yup!” It felt morbid, and I questioned my parenting choices, yet I didn’t want to ruin the fun, so up the piñata went.
We started with the youngest. The first girl, only four years old, approached hesitantly, but after her first swing, her eyes lit up with excitement, and she unleashed her fury on Cinderella. I had to step in to keep her from going overboard.
Eventually, one of the older girls managed to knock off the princess’s head. But when no candy fell out, I re-strung Cinderella and hung her up again. Now, a headless princess dangled in my yard while the girls screamed and continued to whack it with their sticks. It was not my proudest moment as a father.
At one point, my son Max snatched the severed head and began banging it against the side of the house, giggling. When I asked him what he was doing, he said, “I thought there was candy inside.” “No,” I replied, trying not to laugh. “The candy is in the…” I stopped short of saying “headless princess” and demanded he return the head. After a brief tussle, I finally got it back.
Eventually, a little girl broke open the piñata, and candy spilled out onto the grass. The children rushed forward, leaving the headless body behind. The chocolate had melted under the heat, and they swarmed over the spoils, their hands and faces smeared with rich, dark goo. It was a scene straight out of a horror movie.
What worried me most, though, was the clock. The party was slated to end at 4 PM, but it was only 3:40. We had run out of activities 20 minutes before parents were expected to arrive. But knowing parenthood, they’d likely be late.
I love my kids dearly, but I also treasure those quiet moments with Sam. Even just 10 or 15 extra minutes of peace is a precious gift. However, unlike a typical scenario where a few extra kids might mean a bit of chaos, we had nine hyper little girls fueled by sugar and excitement.
I turned to Sam, asking, “What are we going to do?” Her expression mirrored my own panic. “I don’t know,” she replied. I briefly considered letting them finish coloring the pictures they started at the beginning of the party, but the crayons had melted in the heat.
As they wandered into the house, I quickly shooed them back outside, hoping they wouldn’t destroy the garden. Later, I discovered they had uprooted three tomato plants and stuck a Barbie on a stick next to the bird bath in an odd display of dominance.
In hindsight, starting a game of tag or red light/green light might have been a better option, but I was too exhausted to think clearly.
Finally, parents began to arrive, many of them late as I suspected. As I looked around my yard, I saw candy wrappers, a piñata head, chewed gum, melted chocolate, a scabby Disney princess Band-Aid, and more scattered debris left in the wake of the party.
Once I managed to clean up the mess, Lily climbed into my lap, proudly showing off a new toy. “That’s cute,” I said. “Did you have fun?” She nodded with a big smile, and while she didn’t say much, I knew she’d cherish this memory for a long time. At that moment, it felt worth all the chaos. “Good,” I said, “I love you.”
And so it goes: kids’ birthday parties, like many of the challenging experiences in parenting, are endured for that endearing smile and the hope that wonderful memories have been created. For more insights on parenting and home insemination, check out our other blog posts, such as this one about intracervical insemination and the at-home insemination kit.
Summary:
A father reflects on the chaos of his daughter Lily’s fifth birthday party, likening it to a struggle that feels akin to navigating a small hell. As a group of excited little girls descends upon the festivities, the father recounts the frenzy surrounding the piñata, the cake, and the impending arrival of parents. Despite the mess and madness, he finds solace in his daughter’s joy, realizing that these chaotic moments are what create lasting memories.