Birthday party smackdown: big parties vs. small parties
After last year’s huge birthday bash for our daughter, I swore that we were finished with big birthday parties.
I don’t know what pushed me over the edge, whether it was the prep work, the money, the 50-odd people in the venue or the hired entertainer, but I felt certain we would only host small parties going forward.
We just held our first one, however, and it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.
Big party vs. small party
Round 1: The guest list
I stuck to my guns and told my daughter, who was about to turn five, that she could invite five friends. I knew we were in trouble when she started rattling off names of kids she barely knows, in no particular order.
“No, just five,” I explained. “Five friends. We need to pick five because you’re turning five.”
It was excruciating — mostly for me — as I helped her narrow down her selections. This was a foreign concept to us. We have always thrown both kids large birthday parties where nobody was left off the list.
Except for a few instances where there was a hard cap on the number of kids permitted, like gymnastics, it’s always been fine for their younger or older siblings to come along, too. There was a “the more, the merrier” vibe because we didn’t want anyone to feel left out.
But this time it felt like we were leaving out the whole world. The final guest list was tiny with just her close friends from preschool and/or ballet. I texted the parents the information and then slipped them printed invitations like I was a spy with a dossier.
I was racked with guilt over every child we couldn’t invite. I almost threw in the towel and decided I would suffer through another big, loud, expensive party just so we didn’t have to decide.
The winner: big party. No hurt feelings! No awkward guilt!
***
Big party vs. small party
Round 2: The prep work
We booked our local Clay Cafe for the party, which we’d visited often to paint but never to host or attend a birthday. It’s brilliantly colourful — even the light fixtures are rainbow hues — so no decorations were required. I didn’t buy a single balloon or package of streamers and I certainly didn’t make any Pinterest-worthy decor. It was quite a time saver.
Since outside food isn’t allowed, that saved me not only time but money, too. There wasn’t any fussing over a fruit tray, cutting up cubes of cheese or ordering sandwiches. I was feeding far fewer people — and no parents — so I bought popcorn, snack mix and suckers right at Clay Cafe, along with a few cans of apple juice to pour into paper cups.
Crumbly cake doesn’t mix well with painting, so I just boxed up a cupcake (decorated by my kids) for each guest to take home at the end of the party. Loot bags? Heck no! I swore I’d never do those again, either. Each guest would be getting their ceramic masterpiece about a week after the party, once it was fired in the kiln.
The winner: small party. It’s far cheaper and so much less work.
***
Big party vs. small party
Round 3: The hosting
We strolled into the party about 20 minutes early with a single tote bag including paper plates and cups, plus the cupcakes, and there wasn’t anything to set up or organize. We had a reserved table at the back and it wasn’t long before our little group of guests filtered in.
Once the parents took off, I was on my own with the girls. They were all angels as they painted their ceramic trolls; everybody wanted to paint Poppy, naturally, and ate their snacks.
It was so eerily quiet, after all those years of loud parties with kids screaming and running everywhere.
It was almost too quiet, actually. I found myself trying to make conversation for a while, asking about who’d seen the Trolls movie (all of them, duh) and their favourite troll (Poppy, double duh). Then I realized the girls — all of them four or barely five — didn’t care about small talk, so I mostly concentrated on painting a little dish.
Everything was calm and enjoyable. We talked about their costumes for the upcoming dance recitals. We laughed over the memorable “No troll left behind” bum joke from the movie. I admired their painting techniques and refilled their snack plates. It was over before I knew it and I didn’t have the run-over-by-an-anxiety-train feeling I normally have after hosting a birthday party.
The winner: small party. It was way more enjoyable than a chaotic crowd (for me, at least).
***
As difficult as it was for me to accept that we couldn’t invite everybody, I think we’ll be holding small birthday parties from here on out.
It was nice to do something special with my daughter and a few close friends — something that wouldn’t have been affordable with 20 or 30 kids. I feel like I know her friends much better after hanging out with them in such a small group. Plus, I didn’t turn into Manic Mommy trying to organize, fund and host another huge party.
Remind me of this next year, please, when I’m agonizing over the guest list again.
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| Mickey Mouse birthday party on a tight budget |
Converting our bi-fold closet doors to double doors
It seems I’m always tweaking something in our front hall closet — mainly because it’s one of the messiest, frequently-used spots in the house.
I thought I’d done everything I could to make the closet functional and attractive. I’d removed the hanging rod and installed hooks. I’d replaced the storage baskets with a cohesive set. I’d even painted the doors black and replaced the hardware with prettier knobs.
But there was one easy project that blew my mind when I discovered it in the depths of Pinterest — converting our squeaky bi-fold doors into double doors.
Now, you might say that it doesn’t sound like a very useful or interesting project. After all, the doors aren’t getting replaced, they’re just getting a little tweak.
But here’s why I knew immediately I wanted to do it: extra storage (by being able to put hooks on the doors themselves) and a fancier feel.
First, a disclaimer: Bi-fold doors are OK. I’m not hating on bi-fold doors.
They were on almost every closet in our house, and I hadn’t really thought about whether I liked them or hated them — they were just closet doors, after all. But when I realized how easy it was to be to change them into a more dramatic set of double swing-out doors, I knew I’d do it to every set we had …
The first step was taking down both doors (oof, they were heavy!) and laying them down so I could look at the hardware on top. The doors had metal screws with round plastic caps that kept them locked into the track. I needed to keep the hardware on the ends, to reattach the doors to the track, but I yanked out the middle hardware so the doors could “float freely” in the middle.
I rehung the doors and the middle panels — freed from the track — just swung around like wobbly ghost doors, bending at their hinges and moving at the slightest breeze. I needed to do two things: stabilize the doors so they weren’t bending in the middle, and find a way to make them shut firmly.
For a couple of bucks, I picked up some flat metal brackets and screwed a couple on the inside of each door — making it impossible for the hinges to let the doors fold. Three per side did the trick, I decided, as I swung the doors open to test if they still felt “bendy” or if the panels felt like one solid door.
At this point, I put on my painting clothes and got ready to paint the doors. When I’d originally painted them black, I hadn’t bothered to do the insides because the bi-fold style meant you couldn’t ever see them. I decided to use a high-gloss black paint this time since the closet takes quite a beating.
Once the last coat dried, I had two non-folding doors, but they were erratic and kept popping open because there was nothing to keep them shut.
My handy husband screwed some scrap wood below the old track, and then attached two magnetic catches — one for each door.
After he also attached a tiny metal plate attached to the top corner of each door, they would click shut magically.
The last step was making the new doors functional. I couldn’t use the same metal hooks I’d used for the inside of the closet since these are flimsy hollow-core doors. So I settled for a few Command Hooks in the dark “Slate” finish so they’d blend into the doors. Now the kids have more places to hang hats, umbrellas and backpacks, and it’s freed up a few of the interior hooks for coats.
The extra storage is nice, but my favourite part of the new doors is the way they swing out. It’s easier to access the sides of the closet — since you’re not trying to reach into the darkness behind the bi-fold doors — and there’s also an elegance in being able to grab the knobs and dramatically swing both doors open. It’s like I’m opening a fancy walk-in closet with a flourish … except I’m actually grabbing little pairs of muddy rubber boots. So glamorous!
Little Live Pets™ Surprise Chick review + giveaway
Disclosure: We received toys from Little Live Pets™ to play with and review, but all opinions (and muddy, windblown children) are our own.
It was an exciting mail day in our house when we received the Little Live Pets™ Surprise Chick and Surprise Chick House. They were different from our last pets because there was the element of surprise. Who was going to be in there?!
We invited some friends over for the big “unboxing” (quite the YouTube phenomenon these days, apparently, is opening up packaging. Ah, kids today.)
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| It was crazy-windy out, hence C’s extra-wild hair. |
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You could hear the chicks peeping up a storm inside their eggs, and tapping at the shells to “break” them!
OMG it’s happeningggggg!
C’mon, little chicks! We want to meet you!
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| Hello … is it me you’re waiting for? |
The chicks hatched pretty quickly after I released the little lock underneath them (which, you know, prevents them from hatching in the store or inside a shipping crate).
It was chaotic as all the kids squealed and freaked out and I tried to get close enough to take a picture or a video, so here’s how it looks when they’re hatching …
These little guys are really cute. They hop around on their little chicky feet, they tweet and sing, and their little beaks open and close.
(Most importantly, they are NOT loud and/or annoying — and I’m really particular about that when it comes to toys. And people.)
We did not get the elusive limited-edition Golden Chick, but we got “Beaky the Rainbow Chick” (who was promptly renamed “Fuzzy” by D) …
… and “Henny Penny, the Sunny Chick” (who was originally called “Hairy,” lol, and then C renamed “Rainbow.”)
Our neighbour, Mya, was so cute with the chicks, like she was holding a little miracle. Other than their rainbow-coloured wings, they are really realistic.
D especially took to the chicks, even long after the other kids were running around the yard playing. He put them back in their shells to hatch again and again.
He opened and closed their house, then gently put them both inside and hung them on his handlebars as he scooted around the driveway.
The kids liked “racing” their chicks, but I got a kick out of watching them scoot down the little ramp in their house.
The only downside to these toys?
Their little white, fuzzy bodies are looking a dingy because the kids won’t keep their muddy backyard paws off of them.
Want to win your own Little Live Pets™ Surprise Chick? I have TWO to give away, so be sure to enter below …
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When your child sleepwalks
Then, said Anonymous Said woke up, realized their error, and rushed back to bed in a tearful panic. Poor him or her, right?!
Anyway, the poop was cleaned up, the child was calmed down and put back to bed, and Darling Husband and I returned to the basement — baffled.
It certainly was not the first time our children had a bout of sleepwalking. It’s pretty common in this house, actually. Apparently it can run in families, and my mother-in-law is a notorious sleepwalker.
We have investigated tears in the middle of the night to find children sitting on the toilet, totally confused and asleep.
We have heard noises and found them wandering around the top level, searching for the bathroom, totally asleep. (Or in the bathroom but just staring at the toilet like they don’t know how to use it.)
We have had conversations with them (albeit sleepy ones) while they’re totally asleep.
We have heard thuds and bumps and random noises and find them trying to go downstairs in the middle of the night, totally asleep.
Hence … the baby gate.
Our kids are now five and six, and that baby gate at the top of the stairs is NOT GOING ANYWHERE.
What started out as a normal baby-proofing item — installed when D was one and C wasn’t even born — is now a safety device for our little sleepwalkers. We have to make sure it’s shut and locked every night, and so far (knock on all the wood) they haven’t been able to open it while sleepwalking.
As for how we handle the sleepwalkers, other than the baby gate, we really just need to lead them to the bathroom — that’s usually what gets them out of bed — or help them wipe, if they’re really out of it, and then gently guide them back to their bed.
It is a bit freaky, though. Their eyes are open. They talk, sometimes, but it often isn’t totally clear.
And they remember NOTHING in the morning, even if we give them details about what they said or did.
Sleepwalking is supposedly pretty common in children and they often grow out of it, so we’ll see if we still need the baby gate when they’re 15 and 16.
(If we do, I’m totally buying or making a prettier one.)
The perfect Mother’s Day
On the perfect Mother’s Day, I’d wake up to breakfast in bed served at exactly the right time and temperature. My darling children would present me with eggs, bacon, hash browns and a perfectly-buttered English muffin, and then graciously offer to “take” the carbs for me while I gobbled the bread and potatoes, since their little bodies will easily burn them off.
But the perfect Mother’s Day would also mean I’d wake up in a clean, dark, air-conditioned hotel room. I wouldn’t even look at the time. I’d lie there in the silence, dozing on and off, until I felt like I was completely rested. Room service would arrive through an opening in the wall so I didn’t need to get up or see the person delivering it.
On the perfect Mother’s Day, I’d open beautiful handmade cards that my children made just for me. I’d admire their printing and compliment their crayon drawings of us together. I’d get a jewelry box made from a tissue box covered in construction paper and I’d listen to an off-key song they made up about how much they love me.
But the perfect Mother’s Day would also mean I’d be lavished with the gifts my family has thoughtfully chosen. I’d open package after package and none of them would be items I’d bought, wrapped and handed to my husband so he could sign the gift tag. I’d be sent to the spa for the afternoon. I’d leave feeling pampered and rejuvenated.
On the perfect Mother’s Day, I’d spend quality time with my family.
My children would look up at me adoringly with scrubbed faces and clean fingernails. My husband would gaze at me and wonder, out loud, how he got so lucky. I’d whip up a special meal for my own mother, and my sister would fawn over us both.
But the perfect Mother’s Day would also mean I’d spend the whole day blissfully alone. I wouldn’t hear a single whine, tattle, complaint or “I-just-have-to-tell-you” disguised as a tattle. I’d be deliciously selfish and wouldn’t do anything for anyone else. I would do exactly what I wanted to do, all day long.
On the perfect Mother’s Day, I wouldn’t be impatient when I was putting the kids to bed. I’d read aloud from an interesting children’s book I’d never read before and they would listen in awe as I gave each character a different voice. No one would complain they couldn’t see the pictures or to “please pause” while they run to the bathroom, like I am a human television set.
But the perfect Mother’s Day would also mean I got to skip the bedtime routine and make my husband supervise the nightly teeth-jammies-story-prayers circus. While he was finding the Grade 1 reading log and reminding our youngest not to throw her dirty clothes on the floor (like she does EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT.) I would be a full two levels away watching Netflix and beaming.
The trouble with the “perfect” Mother’s Day is that it’s impossible to achieve. So this year, let’s remind ourselves that it’s not supposed to be the single best day of the year, as much as we deserve that. It’s just a day when our children find little ways to show us they love us and we do the same for our own mothers. That, in itself, sounds pretty perfect.
As featured on …
Heather's Handmade Life 