Six Years Old, and What a Party

Well, it's done. And true to form, I didn't take many pictures. I was far too busy wrangling children to deal with the added stress of "Okay, now pose for me!"

Typical of suburban fashion, folks arrived about twenty to thirty minutes late. I had planned for this, saving the big games for 4:30. We played one of the water balloon relays, but the temptation of three bags of water balloons proved to be too much for the kids. The second game quickly devolved into an all out war. Kids were dashing all over, playing out a dozen little psychologies at once. Kids were hoarding balloons, kids were stomping balloons, kids were aiming for adults, kids were chasing and threatening each other, but everyone was screaming with laughter. Some kids were offended at getting wet, other kids had come in their bathing suits. The parents were standing off, enjoying the show.

I rounded them back up for pinata time, and I was overwhelmed by the shouts of "me next! Me next!" at who would take the next three swings. I resorted to closing my eyes and laying a hand on a kid, it was the only way. The pinata was great, it broke up fast enough that no one got impatient yet slow enough to provide some suspense. The fast grab free-for-all left a few of the slower kids crying, but I don't think it's truly a party until someone cries.

Dinner, with hot dogs and hamburgers, was enjoyed by all. All save the ONE vegetarian who did not identify herself. This kind of irritated me. I asked for dietary restrictions. No one said anything. Had she said, "I am vegetarian, please provide some tofu," I would gladly have brought it. But no. Argh. The funny part was that her husband had two hamburgers and remarked to Patrick that they were a "rare treat."

As I had an enormous cake, I began slicing and said, "I expect everyone to eat lots of cake." The kids were happy to oblidge. One of the girls ate two pieces, and the rest had one huge slice apiece. Ice cream cups were distributed, candy divided, and then the kids ran around the park for the rest of the time we had. The parents were fine with this; they were burning off their excitement and sugar-fueled enthusiasm. It was a gorgeous day, and best to spend it outdoors.

Patrick made s'mores for the kids who stayed long enough, and those were well recieved. They enjoyed watching him carefully toast their marshmallows and sandwich them up. I gave some kids some temporary tattoos while they waited.

Everyone told me that the party was a smashing success, and I wish I felt the same. I think we had about eighteen kids. Eighteen. I'm not sure because I lost count. At some point, I think it was during the massive water balloon fight, I looked around myself and wondered how in the hell this happened. Here we were, in the thick of kids I barely knew, and they were all friends of my son. My SON'S FRIENDS. I was aware of these children on some plane, but I didn't know them well enough to tell anyone what kind of candy they liked or what they were allergic to. But Keith could tell me.

It hit me; My son is old enough to socialize on his own terms. He makes friends relatively easily, and keeps them rather well. I'm sure that there will be the usual passing into and out of his life, but if all these children stay at Oakton for the duration of his five years there, then some measure of camaraderie will stay with them.

Not only can he follow directions, feed the cats, write the alphabet, spell "Kwik-e-Mart", read with a large degree of skill, clean up basic things, and perform basic addition and subtraction, he can make subjective decisions for his own person. We're reaching an age where he can definatively state what he likes and does not like, decide who he wants to play with, and what kind of games he wants to play.

It's not that he doesn't need me anymore. I don't feel less needed. On the contrary, I feel more needed than ever before. He doesn't need me to do basic, black and white things for him. He can do that on his own. What he needs me for now is guidance through an incredibly complex world of media and stuff and Hannah Montana and Transformers. He might want to watch X-Men, but he needs me to put it into some perspective for him so he can make sense of it. He can play car crashes with his toys and on video games, but he needs us to reinforce that while driving on the sidewalk is fun in a game, it's not appropriate in reality. These are hard things to teach, because I have to do it constantly and there are so many things out there that would steer him down a negative path. These lessons test my own resolve, my own values, and even my own person. Diaper changes were easy by comparison.

We've already learned some lessons; that the toys on TV look a lot more fun than they really are. That sometimes things are too expensive for us to buy. That malls can be boring. Sometimes hand dryers don't work and we have to wipe our hands on our pants and this is okay. Sometimes the kids on the playground can be little jerks. That beauty is in the small things. Love is best expressed every day and not just on "special" occasions.

There are some life skills we need to work on. Understanding that you can't get your way all the time, and sometimes bad things happen but we need to move on from them. And that failure doesn't inherently make one a "loser." We can work on those things as we move forward. I'm sure year six and first grade have a lot to teach us.

We'll get there.

Meanwhile, I'm left looking at the pile of toys left in the wake of this. Speed Racer and Hot Wheels and Transformers. I don't think I can keep back the Action Figures and Boy Toys much longer, and I'm making peace with that. We also got a cool "Battleship" game! I'm thinking that we may hold a "kiddie yard sale" to get rid of some of his older toys. He could learn about earning more money and clean out his clutter in the process. (The new allowance system is turning out to be a dream! Already I'm saying that if he wants X he can buy it himself.)

Today we learn the art of the Thank You note. And eat leftover cake and watermelon.