The
Recent Paterfamilias has been bested.
The Recent Paterfamilias has been outdone. And the Recent Paterfamilias does not like this. The Recent Paterfamilias says, “I do
not like this!” He says,
“Damnit!” “Damnit!” he says. And again he says, “Damnit!”
But,
perhaps, the Recent Paterfamilias should explain.
The
Recent Paterfamilias’ loyal readers will almost certainly recall his retelling
of his own daughter’s birthday party preparations, tribulations, and, of
course, the post mortem after the fact.
Well,
this past weekend, the R.P. and family en totale attended a single birthday
celebration for three of the R.P.’s daughter’s baby friends. It’s was a birthday party for
non-related, but otherwise de facto, triplets. It was, essentially, a birthday party in triplicate.
A
brilliant idea, this: All our kids
were born around the same date.
Let’s consolidate forces and stage a single party for our three urchins,
only with three times the adult mental acuity, three times the creativity, and
three times the physical strength necessary to accomplish all that’s needed
when mounting one of these colossal baby party affairs.
Again,
the R.P. says, “Brilliant.”
And
they went all out, these parental party planners, and they did it on a strict
budget, too, which is increasingly more impressive, the more that I think of
it.
There
was a theme (a carnival theme), and they’d strung out pennant banners and
balloons along the park fence which cordoned off the party area. (And did I fail to mention that the
party in question was held in Central Park? In the middle of
Central Park? The logistics alone
of getting everything to the middle of Central Park and setting up and
executing this thing, on any budget whatsoever, is enough to impress most, if
not all, other parents and most, if not all, professional party planners). There were games. There was a potato sack race (although
only one actual race took place).
There was a beanbag toss into a beanbag receptacle (which was
commandeered by the adult males after the urchins on-site cleared out, and,
over beers, bets were laid and beanbags were tossed and bets were lost and more
bets were laid and more bags were tossed and more bets were lost and so on and
so forth and this is just one more example of how men will lay bets on just
about anything).
And, apart from the spread
(which was impressive), it was really the presentation and the delivery and the
execution of the thing that really set it apart.
Now, I know I’m really
gushing here, but when a Paterfamilias is bested, he often can help but glow
histrionic.
There was a color theme
(red). There were three matching,
and equally homemade, but hardly identical, cakes (all in the shape of the
number 1). And all the other minor
details had been attended to:
personalized beer cozies, squeeze food packs for the baby set, pinwheels
(which, of course, are fun for babies and tall people alike), and then there
were swag bags, not only for the babies, but also for the mothers (complete
with lotions and bubbles and inflatable beach balls). And it was all done on a very strict budget!
The Recent Paterfamilias does
not like to admit it (and certainly not in a public forum), but he was
impressed.
So, naturally, the Recent Paterfamilias
now finds himself wondering how they (the parents of these three urchins) are
going to top all of this on baby birthday number two. (And, frankly, he’s a little relieved that he set the bar so
low per his own daughter’s brouhaha that all he has to do is launch a little
better than average brunch on a pleasant little Sunday afternoon, and it will
never be compared to a brilliant baby get together that some people will
remember, and think about, and write about, for years and years and years to
come).
Alas, there is much solace to
be found in being so solidly half-assed.
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