The scene is set.
You think you’re prepared, though you have this queasy feeling in your stomach, and this rigid yet tingly sensation at the base of your spine that is saying, ‘you can never be prepared for this.’
There is food laid out on the dining room table that is a pleasing mix of healthy (carrot sticks) and indulgent (chocolate cake, strawberry and marshmallow kebabs, and squirty cream).
The drinks are under control, ok a few of them are a little more risque, but they’re not babies anymore, you can’t expect them to drink water and fruit juice forever right?
You watch the clock, waiting for that moment. The moment when you open your doors to the unknown masses. You wonder again if you should really have given into your son or daughter’s reasoning;
The kid: “But I have to invite Alex, Mum, and if Alex comes then I can’t not invite Emma, or Ethan or Kate. And everyone invites the whole class mum, that’s what you do.”
So that’s what you did, because you don’t want the kid to stand out, or be made fun of, and let’s face it, you don’t want to stand out or be made fun of.
Sighhhhhh.
Five minutes to go and the doorbell rings. Footsteps thunder down the stairs. You take a deep breath, smooth down your carefully chosen outfit, glance at your hair in the mirror and practice your most welcoming smile, or at least an expression that says, “welcome”, instead of one of abject terror.
You open the door and stand back as the unknown masses flood across the threshold into your home. This is it, there’s no going back.
The next few hours are a muddle of shrieking, laughter, music, shouting and mess. Early on you realise that any attempt to stamp order on the assembled revelers is almost impossible. The few parents that bring their young to the door and leave, eye the party warily, and utter words of encouragement while not even taking off their gloves. Others look at you with pity, some with fear as they whisper, “Good Luck” and “Rather you than me” before rapidly exiting the fray. And you nod, and smile, and wince, and steel yourself from following them out the door.
As the party slowly comes to an end, you survey the damage. Injuries have been attended to. Fights halted, items of clothing returned to their original owners, and there are only two piles of vomit to be cleared up, one obviously a result of drinking too much of the gassy brown stuff, the other an interesting combination of chips, chocolate and of course the token carrot.
The kid is asleep under a bunch of cushions in the front room. Part of you wants to shake them and demand encourage them to help with the bomb site that was previously your home, but a stronger part needs the quiet. Waking your tired, over stimulated offspring will surely only prolong the horror and irritation that comes of opening your home to a bunch of raucous, head strong 5 year olds.
And you think, ‘and this is just the beginning…’
My kids are aged 3 and 7. While I love giving into their birthday demands, I can’t help wondering at times whether I am setting myself up for this or this or this! You know the story, the parents are away, the child decides to take this opportunity to invite a few friends round for a “quiet” drink, but it soon becomes something much bigger and much more dangerous.
But is it worse than when we were kids?
I think probably most of us attended at least one adult free party that ended up messy, I know I did. Kids got drunk, occasionally people got hurt, and homes were left needing more than a little TLC, but it seems that more and more we are hearing stories of homes completely wrecked by rampaging teenagers who arrive at a party with the intention of causing damage and chaos.
There is so much out there about how ‘kids’ are more badly behaved these days, how they are ungrateful, destructive and uncontrollable, but I think there is another reason for this growing pattern. When I was a kid, if there was a party, you normally attended because you were a mate, or a friend of a friend. The few times people gatecrashed it was generally in small numbers, and while overwhelming and scary, they could usually be contained pretty quickly before things got really bad.
Now, we are linked together in so many ways, mobile phones, Facebook, Myspace, Bebo, MSN, that hundreds of people can be contacted just by pressing ‘forward’ and clicking on your address book.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for progress, and I enjoy being able to contact my family and friends so easily, but as our social networks grow, maybe we are no longer looking at six degrees of separation, but an even smaller gap that leaves us open not just to a wider circle of friends, but also a wider circle of less attractive/healthy acquaintances.
Whatever the reason for this worrying new trend, I have to admit, I will gladly clear up jelly, ice cream and Coca-cola for as many years as I can get away with. I am sooooo not ready for teenagers.
Shivers.