To Be Those Parents

We jumped off the roof in the summertime. We'd prop the ladder against the house, scramble up it to atop the porch, and walked from the top of porch to the roof. We'd take in the view of the housetops around us and the horizon beyond, and then take a few quick steps down the shake shingle rooftop and jump right into the swimming pool below. 

From the edge of the house to the pool was only four feet, so we always easily cleared the pool decking 10 feet below us. After baking in the 100+ degree weather of California's Central Valley, swimming in our pool all through high school was such a pleasure. Especially with all our friends over. And my sister and I always had friends over. 

Our mom and dad loved the fact that our friends were always over, except when they weren't there and we were jumping off the roof into the pool. Or, when we were making out with those we were dating at the time. Or, when we were having a drinking party when they were at the coast for the weekend. 

"Son, quit jumping off the roof," Dad would say. "You're going to break your frickin' neck. And if your friends break their frickin' neck, they parents are going to sue us. Do you understand?"

Except that he'd throw the real expletives at me and then some. I'd nod and say I did understand, and then the next week we'd again be jumping off the roof. My dad had been a police officer and detective for over 32 years, and was more than direct at times, and yet still had a big heart. 

What was lost on me at the time was how much our friends enjoyed coming over when our parents were home, even more often than when they weren't. My parents were always so generous with all our friends, even those they didn't like so much. But they weren't just friendly adults longing to be friends with our friends; they were friendly adults who still had boundaries as our parents and who treated our friends as extended family. More than once in years since my friends have reminded me of how much my parents were like a second family to them, a second set of parents they listened to and respected. 

Fast forward decades to our family of two girls, Beatrice and Bryce, now 11 and 9. Both girls have many friends, which we're thankful for, as they are loving young humans with good hearts and grateful souls. With friends over regularly for play dates and now both girls experiencing slumber parties away and at home, the growing up adventures have only just begun. 

In fact, the multiple movie parties we've had with nearly 20 kids at one time have turned into date nights for many other parents, of which they're quite appreciative (with a good-luck wink and a smile). We have fun and the kids have fun, and the latest of these events was Bea's 11th birthday party where over 25 kids shook the foundation of our not-so-big house. 

So. Many. Kids. A little overwhelming for me, but less so for my wife Amy, with us both trying to keep an eye on everything ("Stop feeding the rabbit," and "Stop jumping on the couch," and "Stay out of the garage," and "No pizza or cake or drinks in the living room"), although the kids were pretty good overall (only two spills, that we know of), still listening to the adults in the room as they're all still in the pre-tween shadows.

"There's so many kids here," I said to Amy.

"Yes, and I want to be those parents," she said, "the ones where the kids are comfortable coming over and we know what's going on because they're here."

"True, but there's so many kids."

"I know, Sweetie. Love you. Please go see what they're doing in the backyard."

Of course we're not the only house the kids will want to hang out at, and we're not the only parents who befriend other kids as a second family of sorts. But we do want to be those parents, especially through middle school (which is coming next year!), high school and beyond. We want to know what's going on as much as we can and as much as they're comfortable sharing with us. No fear or shame, just parental guidance and understanding, and a lotta frickin' patience (miss you Dad!). 

The good news for now? We're a few years from the tempests of teenage-land. Plus, we currently don't have a pool, so there's no jumping off the roof any time soon.

We Still Have Years To Be A Kid

That's when they made the canary sing like a potty mouth. A dozen sweet little girls dressed like princesses, fairies and kiddie hip hop gangstas bouncing off our walls, laughing crazily and screaming at the top of their lungs, all because of a two simple yet somewhat taboo words for little kids:

Poop and pee.

The canary, a little technological joy that chirps happy birdie songs and also repeats whatever is spoken to it, was actually a Christmas gift for Bryce last year. How fun it was and is to have it repeat poop and pee and even a few frickin' this and frickin' that for good measure (no thanks to me).

So of course it was the perfect party companion for Bryce's big 5th birthday Barbie bash extravaganza.

The rite-of-passage potty talk had actually started downstairs between Beatrice, Bryce and one of the other girls. The grownups were catching up with one another and commiserating over having laughing and screaming kids in the first place.

"Take the potty talk upstairs," said one of girl's mom, and the girls were gone, with most of the others following closely behind.

"Daddy, go upstairs and watch them," said the Mama.

Slowly I climbed the stairs. The bedroom door slammed shut and startled me, but the dissonant howls still escalated to a fervorous crescendo.

I made it to the doorway, opened the door and there they were -- manhandling the poor little bird, forcing it to say "poo-poo and pee-pee" over and over again in various iterations and kiddie dialects.

Thank goodness I was drinking wine. Some of the other little girls watched the potty talk in horror as if the tainted mantra would open up a dimensional doorway to hell. They looked to me empathically for intervention.

"Girls, keep your voices down and please keep the door open," I said, and then I went back downstairs.

My work here is done, I thought.

Hours later after everyone was gone and we were getting the girls to bed, Beatrice made a magical observation.

"We're not going to be grownups for a long time. We still have years to be a kid."

Frickin'-A, baby. Frickin'-A.

This new magic of now

The teenagers threw us for a few minutes. Yes, the Mama was told they were college kids, but mercy me did they look like kids. They were supposed to resemble a prince and princess -- correction -- the girl had called and asked if it would be okay if she dressed up like a fairy.

But when they walked in the house, the boy wore a Navy-like military outfit in all white with a Burger King-esque crown on, kind of a Prince Harry caricature (clothed), and the girl wore a conservative "I Dream of Jeannie" outfit that never made it off the studio rack to the sound stage. They hauled in boxes of stuff with them. What stuff we weren't sure of.

I mean, they really looked like kids, and I was worried. They were supposed to perform magic tricks, paint faces and make animal balloons. And fortunately that's exactly what they did, although Bea's birthday four-year-old and younger party attendees were just happy when the dressed up "older kids" strolled through the house to the backyard with the mysterious boxes. I joked with the Mama asking her if she had ordered ponies, too. Thankfully she didn't.

We laid out blankets on the grass for the kids and parents to sit on while Prince Harry and Jeannie started the show. The kids loved every minute of it, Beatrice as bubbly as I've ever seen her. One little boy was overheard saying:

"I didn't know magic even existed."

Brilliant. And you know what else is a big hit with a little kids' magic show? The little animals. The cuddly, furry and feathery little animals. The magic kids brought a hamster, rabbit and dove to share -- or more specifically, made them appear. Everyone had a chance to pet them after the fact.

Of course Bea loved opening gifts and immediately playing with and sharing all her new toys with all her guests and her little sister. For being the youngest, Bryce held up pretty well, but was also the one who dragged and dropped her iced cupcake all over the living room. What did we expect, right? Give a kid a loaded cupcake…

Oh, the party was so much fun. Really. We couldn't have dreamt it go any better. The magic kids, their live trick animals, the face painting, the balloon animals, the pizza, the cupcakes and cupcake decorating (which thankfully didn't turn into a sticky sweet mess), all of it fun beyond measure for the kids, for the me and the Mama, for Nonna, for my best friend Troy and his children, and all the other parents who came over to celebrate.

The best part came in witnessing our elder birthday B interact and play with the other kids, laughing and tousling one another without incident, gasping and giggling with ever sleight of hand and surprise animals to pet, sharing and playing with toys and gobbling up pizza and pink cupcakes and slurping down juice. 

*sigh*

I didn't even know this kind of magic existed, this new magic of now.

Happy Birthday Beatrice.

Number 1 Is Fun!

Fun, Fun, Fun!

Happy Birthday Bryce!

(OMG, why are all these people here?!? And why is my sister blowing out my candle?!? And what are presents? And why does this cake taste so good? And who are Barbie and Ken?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Because it's been almost a full year and we didn't break her yet.

Beatrice turns 11 months old tonight at 7:00 p.m. I remember her birthday as if it was yesterday - or 11 years ago - or 11 centuries ago. Time is fluid that way, like the surf drudging sand and rock only to spill it back up on the shore over here, or over there.

Or everywhere; I like being covered with Bea. Happy 11 months Beatrice!

However, as of a week ago, Mama A and I weren't fully aligned on whether or not to have a big and formal 1st birthday party. It's a lot of work and money and Bea's not going to remember it anyway, right? Sure, it's great to have the pictures and videos - and Lord knows we've already done plenty of that in the first 11 months - our TotSpot and Facebook family and friends have seen 'em all.

There are families with rich cultural traditions with huge, sometimes lavish 1st birthday parties. Our own families always throw 1st birthday parties. It's a glorious celebration when your baby hits the first year mark!

But what about the cost? When you search online for the "cost of baby birthdays" you get quite a broad range - $50 to $38,000. Interesting expenditure stories online.

What the --?

Regardless of socioeconomic strata, cultural and/or religious beliefs, me and Mama finally compromised and decided to have a more casual birthday for Bea. We're not in a birthday competition so no wagering at home.

Actually it is a party for us, because it's been almost a full year and we didn't break her yet. Yep, still intact.

It's still Bea's 1st birthday party - for us - with family and friends and food, cake and fun. No bouncy houses, no ponies, no starship rides and definitely no scary clowns. That crap comes next year on birthday number 2. (Yes, I'll have to work on Mama for the starship rides.)

Don't worry, Bea will still have fun. Like I said, we'll take plenty of pictures for Beatrice to look at when she's older.

What about gifts you ask? Oh, Bea gifts are good. Very, very good.

It's her party after all.