As mothers, I think we sometimes get caught feverishly trying to do for one child what we did for the other or end up proclaiming things like, “Well, life isn’t exactly fair.” I have a friend who sent out gorgeous birth announcements for her first son, and then mocked up a fake one for her second, put it in his baby book, pretending she sent them out, and swore me to secrecy.
Experts say birth order affects our personality and so far, my first hand experience says that must be true. Charlie, my firstborn, always knows exactly what he wants and works me over until he gets it, usually in a very systematic and loving fashion. Sometimes it takes me weeks to figure out that I was hoodwinked.
It was tricky working with Sam to help him decide what he wanted for his party. Martha Stewart does not do Sponge Bob Square Pants, I refuse to have three themes going at once, and Sam kept changing his mind.
He also wasn’t sure about who to invite. I learned a long time ago to not force my kids to invite the whole class. It seems very inclusive and proper the first few times you do it and then, eventually, you realize, it’s your kid’s birthday, they only have a handful that they are going to remember, so why not make it their version of special?
We were able to celebrate everything Sam loves about being in Ithaca—the great outdoors. We had a “camping party.” While I couldn’t salt the yard with frogs, or fill the Koi pond with trout, I had visions of canoe races, camp games and Primitive Pursuits instruction by local guides, but Sam (how did he get to be so wise?) wanted to keep it simple—“just a tent and campfire, Mom.”
We told spooky stories and roasted marshmallows. It was really fun, minus the part where I accidentally made a 5-year-old cry with the dead-man-body-parts-passed-around-in-paper-bags game.
Thinking back, it occurs to me that Sam, my little confused baby, masterminded a plan to get chocolate, marshmallows AND birthday cake, all in one afternoon.
What next?
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