Birthday Invitations

We tend to go through life assuming that other people - at least reasonable, informed people - are thinking and feeling the same things that we are, and that they perceive facts, situations and personalities the same way that we do. We're wrong, of course, but at least we're reasonably well intentioned.

I've discovered that anything that we consider to be An Important Occasion magnifies ordinary miscommunication and misunderstandings. Don't even talk to me about how crazy people get about weddings.

Birthdays ought to be pretty relatable and understandable, right? Wrong. I know people who stress out about having a birthday, who feel sad because another year is past. I don't get it. Some people want to ignore them and pretend that they don't exist. I don't comprehend that level of denial - we were all born, and time continues to move forward.

On the other hand, I know people who don't just celebrate the day itself - they have Birthday Week. Celebrations for days! They and the "it's not a big deal" people tend to think that the other is crazy.

 I understand a bit, at least intellectually, the conflict between the "just ice cream and cake" crowd and the "blowout super extravaganza bash" crowd. I just simply will not do over the top parties for my family, even if I wake up tomorrow with obscene wealth. I know that there are people who fear that their kids will be outcasts with no friends if they have a "lame" birthday party. I'm just not particularly capable of holding or accommodating that mindset. "You're willing to like my kid if I give you expensive things and experiences? Aw, great! My kids will have such caring friends!" Yeah, I know that I've alienated people. I know that there are the "if you can't have a 'nice' party, don't bother" folks. My kids have certainly attended parties where the favors they brought home were more expensive than the gift they gave. To me, a "nice" party is spending time with people that you like, having something good (even if it's only cake) to eat, and a fun activity or two - games, swimming, etc. So, if that doesn't work for you, don't attend any party that I throw. Seriously; we'll both be happier.

I've always erred on the side of inviting too many people. I was the kid who was frequently left out, and I never wanted another kid to feel deliberately excluded. Even when I was invited, it didn't always go well - like the time in 6th grade when everyone else was invited to go roller skating, but my best friend and I were invited over only after the skaters had come back to the birthday girl's house for cake and presents. (The mom was mortified, and promised to take us skating another day, but neither of us took her up on it.)

I was therefore quite surprised when I met other moms who felt that birthday parties should be best friends only, the kids who were always over anyway, and that extending that invitation list was a blatant grab for gifts. I'm used to relatives and friends who give very modest gifts, and expect very modest gifts. Knowing that there were gift grumps made me even more grateful for the kids who came, gift or no gift, to celebrate with my kids.

One of my daughters has a birthday two days after Halloween - she loved it when she got gifts of leftover Halloween candy. (What kid doesn't love candy?) One girl made it into an adorable wreath. The birthday girl reveled in having more candy than her siblings.

I've had people RSVP to say that they can't bring a gift, and I always tell them, "A gift is not necessary. Or, something from the dollar store is fine. Or, since gift opening is the last thing we do, you can pick your child up before gifts are opened. Just say that you have to leave early, and no one will mind." Once, a mom told me that her daughter would not be coming to my daughter's party because she could not afford a gift. I gave her the spiel above, and she finally agreed to bring her daughter. That year, the party was at Build a Bear Workshop, where you get to stuff your own stuffed animal. It was pretty outrageously expensive for us, but that's the perk of being the youngest child - parents have more money and less patience for party planning/throwing. So, the girl showed up, built her bear, and was picked up from our party and taken straight to another party, where the bear she'd just built was the gift. I was happy that our invitation allowed her to attend two parties.

My vision of "parties" was always just cake, ice cream and drinks, as far as refreshments went. For the first few parties we threw for our kids, that's what we did. We usually put candy in the goodie bags to take home.

Then, one very vocal complaint changed the way we threw parties. It shouldn't have - maybe we should have stood our ground - but we also wanted guests to be happy.

On the day of my daughter's party, my husband worked 7 A.M. to 3 P.M., and was home by 3:30. I had rehearsal for a play that evening. I had to drive 45 miles, across three county lines, to get to rehearsal. I had to leave by 6:15 if I wanted to be on time; I could push to 6:30 if I knew I'd have great traffic, and felt like speeding a bit (which I do not). So, we planned the party for 4 to 6, at our house.

Since it was right before dinner - for my kids, anyway - we had cake, drinks, goldfish crackers and pretzels. That way, there was "party food," but everyone would still feel like eating dinner. We had chicken thighs in the oven for our family, so they could come out as soon as the guests were gone.

Everybody showed up on time, played, ate, opened gifts, got goodie bags, and went home on time, except for two family members (and their kids) who lingered. Not wanting to eat in front of them, I left my husband to feed our kids when the guests were gone, and stopped for a sandwich on the way to rehearsal. Eating in the car when I had a show was not uncommon.

Later that evening, my husband got a call from an irate family member who'd brought kids to the party. Like all of our family (and many of our friends) in the area, they lived in the next town, the same town my rehearsal was in. Driving to our house meant a 30 to 60 minute drive. She called to tell him that she was "so offended" that we hadn't fed them dinner. "I drove all that way with hungry kids, and I had to stop for fast food in order to feed them! There was no way I could make it home and cook something with them starving like that."

The worst part was that she apparently felt singled out. My husband pointed out, "We didn't feed anyone dinner."

"You didn't? You had a party and didn't provide food?"

"There was food, but not dinner. Even my wife didn't eat dinner at home." As he was telling me this story, I was thinking, I ate fast food that night. Welcome to my world. It also could not have escaped her attention, as the last one there, that all the other guests left without having dinner; how could she feel singled out?

And, she had not RSVP'd; we were surprised to see her when she came. (I think it was the only time that she ever came to that house, and we lived there for over 5 years.) Even if we'd planned dinner, we wouldn't have planned on them having any.

There was a fairly protracted conversation between her and my husband about what people "expect" from an invitation. My husband and I both thought that it was fairly obvious that a child's afternoon party would not provide dinner. If it was from 6 to 8, OK, expect dinner, but right after school? Who eats dinner at 4 or 5? The time was clearly printed on the invitation. It also said, "Join us for..." and cake was the only food listed. I couldn't imagine that this had been a surprise.

But, it had been, and she was madder than a wet hen. We never again threw any birthday party without including a meal, but I don't think she noticed. She attended a grand total of two more birthday parties for any of our kids - two total, not two per child. She was at a total of three parties - and we have 4 children, who had birthday parties every year.

Sometimes, we'd have an afternoon party, and serve things like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and goldfish crackers. Many times, we served pizza. A couple of times, we had McDonald's, like when my 4 year old had her heart set on a party at their Play Place. The only other time anyone said anything derogatory about the food was the year a friend said, "What brand cake mix was this? Because it was awful; I want to make sure that I never buy it."

(Well, and when one of my daughters, as an adult, complained, "We went to a pizza place for my 16th birthday party." Sorry, Kid - no over the top "Sweet 16s" with a live band and dancing. No boozy 21sts, either.)

We were also informed that our invitation process was lacking.

I've always tried to do written invitations. One, it just seems more official and less offhand - if we send you an invitation, you know that we want you there. Plus, all the details are written down - no, "Was that Friday or Saturday?" or, "Was that 4 or 5?" You don't have to rely on your memory. Or on notes - I've watched people write down incorrect information as someone is speaking right to them. All the info you need is there and correct in a written invitation.

Two, I tried to mail them. Getting mail is fun. But, more importantly, if you aren't inviting every single child in a class at school, at church, at dance or gym, on your Little League team or your Scout troop, it's a little less obvious if you aren't handing invitations out to some kids and skipping others. Doing it through the mail feels less exclusionary to me. I always collected mailing addresses of kids that we wanted to invite.

With family, of course, we had their addresses, and we always made sure that we mailed invitations to our family and those that we considered family before we sent them to anyone else. Family invitations might go out on Monday, and the rest go out on Friday.

Three, they establish the theme; you know if the birthday child is into princesses or airplanes.

Even though we carefully mailed the invitations to family first, we had a relative who didn't come, and kept making comments about "if I'd been invited." When that happened, we'd either reiterate the plans, assuming they didn't get the invitation, or assure them that we'd love to see them next time if the party had passed. After this happened for at least two years, I finally asked, "Is your mail delivery a problem? Do you not get home delivery?"

"No, we get home delivery, and my mail lady is great. We're on a first name basis."

"I have your house number right, don't I?" I recited the number.

"That's right."

"Then how do you not get the invitations? We mail them in plenty of time."

Then she said, "Oh, I get the little cards," in a voice that indicated that "the little cards" were somehow icky.

"Then you've been invited. That's the invitation." How was this not clear?

"But you never called me!"

What?

"I never called anybody."

"You never called anybody?"

"No. We sent out invitations." She looked horrified. "I didn't even call my mother."

"You didn't talk to anybody?"

"No." She looked so shocked, and this was apparently a difficult concept to grasp. "Sometimes, people RSVP, but not very often. Or, they'll call to ask what kind of gifts to get. But other than that, no."

She really was horrified. "And people came?"

"Yes, people came." I wanted to add, "Because we invited them," but I didn't.

"You'd better be glad they love those babies enough to overlook your rudeness!"

Rudeness? I invited them to a party!

Apparently - and I was unaware of this - she considered only a phone call to be a "real" invitation. Even if you mailed something, you called to say that you'd mailed it, then again to see when it arrived. She also thought that this was how "everyone" felt; I was baffled.

I'm not much of a phone person. My husband never got over the fact that my mom and I, who adore each other, could have phone calls that lasted less than a minute. Of course, I've also talked for over an hour, numerous times; it's not a phobia or anything. I just don't make many phone calls. Plus, as I listed above, I believe in actual, paper invitations. And my husband just does not make phone calls unless it's practically life and death.

Her attitude seemed wrapped up in a trait shared by a number of my friends and relatives - the idea that people only love you if they phone you, and frequently. The person who receives, not makes, phone calls is the one who is loved most. Plus, other communication, including face to face, is "not making an effort." I find that to be very weird.

Also, some people tend to feel that if they have to specifically tell you about something in their lives (whether good or bad), it's because you don't really care. If you "cared," you'd talk to them so frequently that you'd already know. If I didn't know something that was going on in their life, it was because I "never" called, and therefore "obviously" didn't care. The ball always seems to be in my court, though - if they didn't know something about my life, it was also my fault for not phoning them enough.

This never made sense to me. It made even less sense when I'd say, "You never call me, either!" and the answer was, "Well, I would, if you called me." What? "I think this is the only correct way to behave, but I'll only do what I think is right if you do it first"? That's ridiculous.

The thing is, if she'd said, up front and in a timely fashion, "I'd really appreciate a phone call," I would have done my best to call. I would have found it needy, but I would have made an effort. But to have someone ignore written invitations, make passive-aggressive comments about "not being invited" and then tell me that it was my fault for not being attentive enough produced the opposite reaction. If other people could figure out that receiving a mailed invitation meant that they were invited, by golly, every recipient could. Show up or don't, but don't gripe about it, either way.

And yeah, even with 4 kids, even after being told that I entertained badly and made gross cake and had bad manners, we had parties for our kids every single birthday while they were growing up - because we are parents, and the kids come first.

(I will readily admit, though, that as they got older and we had a bit more money to spare, I no longer cleaned, decorated and cooked - we went to restaurants, movie theaters, bowling alleys or elsewhere, including a corn maze. Less stress for me.)

I wonder, sometimes, if things have changed in the digital age. Probably now, people get upset about getting or not getting texts, not phone calls. I rarely text. I still send paper invitations, I still mail them to relatives first. But, everybody else might get an e-vite or Facebook Event invitation. My daughter just graduated from high school, and I don't have physical addresses, or phone numbers, for many people that we know, and are in electronic contact with regularly. I'm pretty sure that an electronic invitation is socially acceptable.

But, if you think it's not, we pretty much have two choices - let's just avoid each other's events, or attend them without griping. As "the kids say these days," you do you. I'll do me.

Praiseworthy

Someone posted an article recently about the latest Young Adult in Hollywood Behaving Badly, and a friend of mine commented with a sentiment that I've heard many times before - "There aren't enough adults in (his/her) life saying no."

We all know this - we recognize it to be true. Give a young person fame, money and few boundaries, and chances are, it will turn out badly. Very few people can handle that kind of constant indulgence without turning into a self involved jerk with no reasonable decision making skills.

Sometimes, though, we seem to feel that it's about the money and fame more than it is about the lack of boundaries. "You've got to support your kids," people say, when what they mean is, "I'm afraid to tell my kid 'no.'" We worry so much about our kids' self esteem, and obsess that we might hurt their feelings or squash their dreams, that we find ourselves unable to set boundaries.

I know people who are just terrified to think that their children will ever be upset, hurt or disappointed in any way. While I adore my kids, and it pains me when they hurt, I have never thought that they are, or should be, exempt from the human condition. It is not my job to tell them that everything they think and do is amazing, or even correct.

My mother, and any parent of her generation or before, would have laughed herself silly if someone told her that her that her job, as a parent, was to make her kids happy. My mother was not perfect, believe me, but you criticize her parenting at your peril.

Mom was a very sensible, logical person. She was not stingy with praise, but it was always earned and matter of fact. If she said, "You worked hard on that project; you deserved an A," she said it the same way she said, "It's time for dinner," or, "You have a dentist's appointment on Tuesday." It was simply a fact.

That was also how she delivered criticism. "You can do better," "You made a mess; now clean it up" or "That's not going to work" were also delivered as a fact, not a value judgment. She knew when I'd thrown an assignment together, even if I got an A on it. Then, she neither praised or discounted the result, just observed, correctly, "Well, (that subject) has always been easy for you." Sometimes, I was annoying, disrespectful, lazy, unorganized, neglectful, hostile or any number of other "negative" things. She never hesitated to call me (or my siblings) on it, but I never, ever felt that she didn't love me because she was angry or disappointed. I also never felt that she loved me more when I was easy to parent - obedient, helpful, focused on my schoolwork. Her response to any action on my part depended on the action. Her love for me - for anyone - was entirely separate from behavior.

She did not gush over my every effort, no matter how tiny, assuring me that I was so much smarter, more talented, more worthy than other people. She also never put me down and made me believe that I'd never be good enough, no matter what I did.

At church, they told us that we were all children of God, and therefore, special. So, I felt special; but, I recognized that everyone else was special, too.

I never really thought that the balance of praise to criticism, "yes" to "no," was that hard. For one thing, Mom made everything she did look effortless. For another thing, the fact of the matter was what was important. If she'd told me that my crayon scribble was better than Picasso and it deserved to hang in a museum, that didn't mean that someone was going to come pay me millions for it and put it on display. If she'd told me that my "A" schoolwork was worthless, and that a chimpanzee could do better, it wouldn't suddenly change my correct answers to incorrect ones. Luckily, I never had to look for hidden meaning. If she pointed out that my room was a mess, it was a mess. If she said that my grandmother really appreciated the letter I'd sent, then Grandma was glad to get the letter. Simple.

Watching other people, though, it doesn't appear to be that simple. I see parents who feel that their child is never in the wrong, ever. Did the child get a citation for fighting at school? The other child involved is clearly in the wrong, and their angel was only trying to avoid being a victim. Did the child fail a test? The teacher didn't teach the material correctly. They didn't get the position they wanted on the sports team, or the solo they wanted in the chorus? It's because the coach or director doesn't like them, and favors another kid. These parents never ask their child to sit down and be still, to say please or thank you, to have a bedtime or to wait their turn, because the child doesn't like to. It causes the child to be unhappy, and that must be avoided at all costs!

Then there's the other end of the spectrum. I know (otherwise reasonable) people who believe that any praise is bad. It will cause the child to "get a big head." Compliments of any kind are also bad. They also believe that pointing out strengths, or things the child does well, are immaterial, and will prevent any improvement. In order to improve, the child must focus exclusively on what they do wrong. If you do ever pry a compliment out of them, it always has a "but" attached - "That was good, but it could be better." This is being "helpful," they're sure.

Both philosophies are well intentioned, but I believe that both are wrong. Balance is necessary.

The best Little League coach that my son ever had was the one who recognized each player's strengths and weaknesses, and tailored his praise and correction accordingly.

I try to do the same with the speech and debate team that I coach. I would never say to the kids who compete in the impromptu and extemporaneous events, "That's just lazy. You could memorize a piece if you wanted to. Why don't you do one of the events that takes actual preparation instead of taking the easy way out?" I would also never say to the kids who do events that require writing a piece, memorizing a piece, or both, "Anyone can do a decent job if half the work is done for them, and the piece is already written. Anybody can remember something they wrote themselves. Why don't you do something that's actually a challenge, and makes you use your brain on the spot? Are you too stupid to speak off the top of your head?" Each kid needs to figure out what they, personally, are good at, then do that thing. That may be the same thing their teammates are good at, or something vastly different.

I praise them when they do a good job, or even make an effort, and let them face the consequences when they don't do a good job. I've let my own kids walk into competition unprepared, knowing that they'll score badly (or completely crash and burn), because it's not my job to make sure that they never fail. It's my job to provide them with information and opportunity, and then let them learn. What cause equals what effect?

I have always tried to follow my mom's example and keep the same balance with my kids. I try to keep it very factual. Sometimes, they do a great job. Sometimes, they don't. I let them know that sometimes they'll win, and sometimes they'll lose. That's not a reflection on them, personally; it's how life works.

Anyone who's a parent, though, knows that children are not miniature adults, with fully formed reasoning capacity. They are irrational beings. They have no sense of scale - how big or small a problem is - and have undeveloped coping skills. Their brains are not done forming, even if they're intelligent.

My middle daughter has loved her persecution complex for her entire life. She clings to it like a life preserver in a stormy sea. When she was a child, good heavens, she spent most of her time simultaneously angry and depressed. In other words, she was a stereotypical adolescent.

She was about 14 when she informed me, sulkily, "You're always telling the baby, 'Good job!' You never say 'Good job' to me."

This was not the time to point out that when I did praise her - and it happened frequently - she would tell me, vehemently, why I was wrong. After a band concert, for instance, I'd tell her what a good job she did, and she'd snort in derision. "I screwed up the (musical term I don't understand)! I played the wrong note at least six times!"

I would say, "A performance is not measured by whether or not it's perfect. Professional musicians still make mistakes. A performance is measured by whether or not the audience enjoyed it, and they did."

"No, they didn't!" (Her knee-jerk response, the entire time she was growing up, was to disagree.) "Nobody liked it! They're only here because they have to be. Their kids are playing." She "corrected" me if I complimented her appearance ("I look stupid!"), schoolwork ("I didn't even try hard"), attitude ("Big deal"), helpfulness ("You make me do this stuff") or anything else. This is the child who informed me (repeatedly), "I'm obviously not as smart as you think I am."

Instead of pointing out how often I complimented her and was told that I'm wrong, I pointed out another obvious truth. "Just today, I said to the baby, 'You put your shirt on all by yourself! That's great!' The days when I would say that to you are long gone. No one will ever again say such a thing to you until you're 90 years old and in a nursing home. If you want me to say 'Good job,' you have to actually do a good job at something."

This is why humans do not have magical powers. If she could have reduced me to a pile of ashes right there on the spot, she would have.

When they were younger, my older two children complained bitterly when we made them clean up after themselves at fast food restaurants. They had to pick up anything they dropped, throw away their trash, wipe up spills and put away the tray. They both found this to be victimization of the highest order, and a clear violation of child labor laws. The complaints were loud and frequent. "Why do we have to clean up? Everybody else gets to just leave their stuff. It's not fair. They pay people to do this. This takes forever (a perennial favorite, no matter the job or how long it actually took). Why don't other people have to clean up their own mess, but we do?"

(Answer: "Because it's the right thing to do." This was not met with enthusiasm.)  The caterwauling reached a crescendo if we ever had them pick up a stray piece of trash along with their own.

When she was 16, my oldest went to work at a fast food restaurant. Almost from the first day, she came home complaining about people who didn't pick up their own messes. "People are pigs!" She resented having to do her regular duties and clean up after sloppy and lazy patrons. (I don't blame her.) She was especially scathing about parents who watched their kid(s) make a mess, then just got up and walked out.

I kept waiting for the mental light bulb to go on, and for her to make the connection, but it didn't seem to be happening. After 2 or 3 weeks, she was still complaining when we made her clean her own mess, as well as complaining about people who didn't pick up after themselves. All she had internalized at that point was, "I have to clean up whether I'm the customer or the employee. It's not fair!"

Then one day, she came home especially furious. A frequent customer had come in with his child, whom she described as "obnoxious" and "a filthy pig." Apparently he made considerable messes, and just walked away from it every time. "No one's ever going to want to be around that kid! No one's ever going to want to date him, or even be his friend."

Time to point out the obvious. "Now do you see why your dad and I always make you clean up your own mess? We don't want you to be one of those obnoxious people that nobody likes."

I swear to you, I actually watched the synapses fire in her brain while she finally connected the two thoughts, and her eyes grew wide. It was obviously the first time that this had occurred to her, yet she could see the truth of it. What decent parent wanted other people to feel that way about their child(ren)?

I don't think that we ever again heard "It's not fair!" complaints about having to pick up her own trash. My younger kids have done less complaining than the older ones because the older ones not only provide a good example, they're the first to let the younger ones know what's OK. "Pick that up! Nobody else needs to clean up your mess!"

In fact, one of the joys of this stage of my life is being around my adult children who are delightful, considerate people. "I used to be so jealous of those kids who got away with anything," my middle daughter said to me. "Then I got older and realized, those people are just obnoxious to be around. Nobody likes them."

It was never my job to have children who were happy every moment. It was my job to create functional adults. To a point, I agree with people who say, "We need to build up our kids, before the world tries to tear them down," but I sometimes disagree with the ideas others have about how that's done. I don't think that you "build up" a person by constantly telling them that everything they do is right and praiseworthy and good. You build them up by giving them the actual skills they need in order to function independently, competently and happily. You teach them how to work, how to cope with frustration, how to hear and respect the word "no," how to practice self control and how to consider the feelings of others as important. Those qualities are what will lead to them being happy. They won't be happy if they expect to always get their way and hear how amazing they are, no matter what they do. No matter who you are, those are unrealistic expectations.

I am not a perfect person or perfect parent. My kids are not perfect. Still, three out of my four kids are adults now, and if I do say so, they've turned out to be pretty great. So, yeah, I feel qualified to hold opinions on what's a good idea and what's not.

Young Hollywood: talent does not excuse rudeness. Everything you do, or consider doing, is not OK, funny, amazing or even justifiable. Sales of albums or movie tickets or mentions in the press do not equate to your worth as a human being. People around you, especially the ones telling you that you can do no wrong, are not "supporting" or helping you. Often, they're actually keeping you from reaching your potential. There's a reason for the term "spoiled rotten."

Those boring, outdated, out of touch people who tell you to knock it off, to tone it down, to dial it back - they're onto something. You might want to listen.

But only if you want to be actually happy instead of just indulged.