We parents can be a competitive lot.

Sure, we all think that our little duckling is the sweetest, bestest child in the world.  And what better way to show that loving devotion to the rest of the world than by throwing a ginormous birthday party for a three year old?

I remember back in the day when you were lucky to even have a pinata to hit.  Any prize you got was usually because you won one of the games.  So as long as you had a few games of musical chairs and fed guests a slice of pizza, all was good and right with the world.  Oh, and those cone hats were de rigeur as well.  However, I in no way lament the passing of that particular fashion statement. 

But nowadays one measly pinata is so not going to cut it.  I don’t know who the first parent was to think that renting a bounce house was a fab idea, because they have so ruined it for the rest of us.  Bounce houses led to mini-trains, and then pony rides, which then created roving bands of various animals ranging from lizards and snakes to a yard full of puppies. 

And don’t even get me started on the gift bags.  Again, I don’t know when the particular “tradition” of giving each attendee a gift bag began, but it used to be that just showing your young guest a good time and feeding them cake was good enough.  Now, there is almost as much planning and forethought put into the guest bag as to the party itself.  Girls get one type of bag, boys another.  I have literally been to parties where I am quite sure the gift bag cost more than the present I bought for the birthday child.  Which is not to say I’m cheap, mind you, but a sign of just how easy it is to go overboard.

If a parent can take that just one step further than the last birthday party on the block, they’ve got bragging rights.  Because not only did Johnny get a 5-in1-bounce house, but an old-timey popcorn cart, custom cotton candy maker, and a private screening of the hottest kid’s movie.  That leaves all the other parents at the party smiling brightly at the host, masking the deep resentment of trying to come up with an even more elaborate party. Damn the Smiths and their snow cone machine!

When will it end?

At least the Beatles aren’t an option.

Because if they were, I guarantee you a mom or dad would be on the phone with their agent, pleading that little Muffy MUST hear the live version of “Love, Love me Do” for her first birthday.

It would turn out something like adorable Little Gordon Ramsay here. And people ask me why I don’t have kids!
Part One

Part Two

Part Three