There are all kinds of ways to turn four.
For parents, the question really centers around how to celebrate (and of course, how did this happen? The baby has left the premises). Do you go big? Do you keep it small?
We happen to have a very lovely crew of kids in our preschool. The gestalt of the parties has been big and inclusive and a bit of an overload in the nicest of ways, as in party venues for the most part, and the level of noise and colorful plastic décor that accompanies these places and this kind of party. They are kind of like the hubbub that happens on Christmas morning: too much stuff, all that pretty paper crumpled in its wake and a sweet, if sticky sensation when all is said and done (note, this is my interpretation).
The most important thing about having one’s child—first, second, third or fourth or beyond I imagine—turn four is that you, the parent are so, so thrilled: by the child’s amazing, emerging self, by the fact that you’ve gotten through the round-the-clock feeding and the vigilant-by-the-second era and now, they walk, talk, (sort of) reason, and even lie, which displays a wiliness you have to admire. My one-week-shy-of-four-year-old has lied about who’s painted her toenails, how much television she’s watched, whether she’s hit her brother and much, much more. She’s also about the most earnest person I know, currently.
It’s the besotted part that means every birthday party for a four-year-old is inherently a win.
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I like taking photos at these birthday parties. What I see is the friendship, the wonderful happenstance of kids who know each other together in a new place and the whirling frenzy that ensues—and yesterday, for reasons that remained mysterious to all of us—Dora, too.
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My friend, the host, thought I’d be appalled at the Disney Princess atop the cake (I wasn’t). For one thing, I know that when my gal drops the f-word at preschool, she’s a parent who will take that overexposure to older brothers and loose-lipped parents in stride. I let her know that my gal, whose mother tossed the Disney Princess bathing suit that was handed down to her, lets her daughter watch, again for reasons that remain utterly mysterious, the Wizards of Waverly Place. It’s on the Disney channel, for those not in the know. It’s (as one other friend noted) “voracious suckitude.” I got lazy by the fourth child; the third child discovered the show and hooked his impressionable sister.
I think the point is that beyond the people who put all efforts into doing this parenting thing by whatever book (or blog) they subscribe to is that most of us don’t do it perfectly. We back into something attachment parenting-like without being actual attachment parents. In fact, much of what we celebrate about our parenting is often inadvertently discovered (three good things) and many of the places we look back and wish we’d done differently way earlier (two words: chore wheel).
To wrap a little longer view into this musing about smalls and birthday parties, I watched my 16 year-old take a bow onstage with his cast and crew last night at a terrific, student-directed production of The Effect of Gamma Rays on the Man in the Moon Marigolds and was reminded, among other things, that he’s a terrific person, terrifically himself. Even though he’s a teenager, he likes us and we like him. I’m filing that in the win column.
