Kids' parties: oh, what have we done? It was not a proud day when I realized I was part of the problem rather than the solution. When you have a child and become a first-time mom, your brain rewires itself for a while. It's not a subtle change, really, one day you've just become crazy. It might be as early as the day you find out you're pregnant. The day is different for everybody, but it comes, just as surely as a woman planning a wedding one day turns into Bridezilla. (FYI, one of the perks of getting married in Vegas is you cut your Bridezilla time substantially.)
So as a Childzilla I let corporate America sweep me up in the con that it was necessary to spend hundreds of dollars on a party for a 3 year old. And a 4 year old. And a 5 year old. Right about this time my second child was ready for parties with his preschool friends and now I was spending big bucks on two parties a year. And that's when it hit me; when I was shopping yet again for the perfect obligatory favor after already paying for a party and a cake, not to mention presents for my little princess, that celebrating something as beautiful and natural as my child's birth had become a commercial enterprise. And frankly, one I couldn't really afford. When I was a kid, my birthday started with some butter on my nose (I'm sure you have your weird traditions too, try not to judge) and generally ended with a family meal followed by cake and ice cream. That was it. I generally got a present from my mother, each of my aunts and my grandmother. Sometimes all the cousins were over, sometimes not. My birthday is in August, so to my recollection I never had a party with school friends. My daughter's birthday is in July and I was determined for her to have the parties I didn't. Not because I didn't enjoy my birthday, I looked forward to my special day as much as any other holiday, but because I might have missed out on something. So no home parties for my girl; once she was old enough to invite school friends her soirées were outsourced. Let somebody else organize, entertain, and clean up the mess. Bring on the hoopla. And as is the case once your child hits school age, the invitations starting flying. She was invited to dozens of parties, some were home parties, but most weren't. Other parents were spending a mint too. And while the children love these parties (who wouldn't?) they are oblivious to how special these events are because they have become commonplace. And that is the problem. Where is the special? When you have 10 dolls, you might not care about any of them, whereas if you had only one, you're likely to drag it everywhere. Children are so surrounded by stuff that none of it matters. It is just background noise. As you might imagine, once my birthday epiphany arrived, I made the decision to cease all further birthday extravaganzas until I was able to wrap my mind around this thing. I have a couple of friends who give their children the choice: Do you want me to give you the party or presents? You can't have both. Of course they will get both because these parties tend to generate mountains of presents. I want my child to feel celebrated, but I don't think that should translate into an extravagant number of business transactions. This weekend my girl was invited to a party for one of her school friends. She went to a pottery studio and made pinch pots, followed by some good old fashioned playing and treats. Perfect. (Why in the heck didn't I think of that?) The next day we went to a family party where the entertainment consisted of the household's jungle gym, a piñata and mom face painting the kids. Also perfect. My daughter loved both. And I had another epiphany (hence this post). The children aren't there for the background noise of expense. The fun of the party is the people. It is being side by side with their friends, giggling and experiencing each other amongst unique circumstances. Just like all the things Bridezilla worries about for her party, t matter for Childzillas' parties either. Those kids don't care about the favors, no matter how clever they are. They don't really care about the decorations or the music or the games either. The best part of the party is 2 hours with friends. It is a child's version of a dinner party, an occasion I tend to enjoy immensely. So now I am on a mission to be an advocate for simple celebrations. To make amends to any mother who felt obligated to throw their kid an expensive party after attending one of my children's events. This Childzilla has seen the light. While my daughter won't be celebrating her 7th birthday in Vegas (it works for Bridezillas but not for Childzillas), her party also won't cost me what I'm likely to lose when I go there. It is one thing for fellow moms to really enjoy throwing lavish parties for their precious monkeys as I once did, and I will continue to send my children as guests to those parties cheerfully. But to those moms out there like myself who have spent enough already, if you want to invite my kids to a backyard potluck, I'll bring the taco dip. Children are a lot of freaking work. If pre-parents could accurately forecast just how much work children are, I bet there would not be an over-population problem anywhere. Thankfully, as they get older, if you are doing your job right, children get more and more self sufficient (until they are teenagers, from what I keep hearing.) I've come to realize I am banking on this whole gardening business working out the same way.
Two days ago I started hardening off my tomatoes. I thought that an odd term until I realized what was hardening was my quadriceps from lugging 7 flats of tomato seedlings up and down my basement steps twice a day. I mean seriously. I am gradually exposing tiny little plants to life outside? Pray tell, how in the heck have tomatoes survived this long? Then there's the celery. An Eighteen inch trench is their habitat of choice. I guess their seeds really have to get lucky if there isn't a human sap around to dig. The difference between my children and my garden is my children started to give back almost immediately; with their little gazes, holding your finger with their little hands, eventually smiling. Seedlings? Nothing. All those vegetables depend on my ability to predict being hungry in 3 months. Not only that, but hungry enough to eat vegetables, which, often I am not. This is probably why there are a lot more children than there are gardens. Okay that and although acquiring seeds was extremely pleasurable, it wasn't quite as satisfying as, well, you get my meaning. "Start small", they said. "It's a lot of work", they said. Did I listen? Obviously not. But nurturing babies of any species requires effort. Those of you without children or gardens but who have tried to potty train a puppy are with me. Those of you who have never reared anything, smart thinking. That said, there is an intangible remuneration that comes from caring for something. Plus, there's enjoying the process. While squatting in the sun digging in dirt doesn't sound alluring, it is. So is making the rounds assessing progress and keeping a watchful eye out for disease and pests. Weeding is almost agreeable in that you are protecting your charges with a vengeance. It's kind of an angry gratification. In my mind I tend to chant, "I've chosen that species NOT YOU!" It's a hard world out there, what can I say? So I was being a bit harsh when I said my garden is giving nothing back. It hasn't given me any of the promised fruit yet, but it has provided a rewarding sense of accomplishment in how I spend my time, much the same way my children do. Unlike my children, however, the seedlings don't talk back. The tomato plants weren't as resilient to neglect as I afore thought. Many have lost their will to live. Or perished from dehydration. Whichever. The point is, it was a blow. Luckily, my human charges have survived. I haven't checked their vital signs, but they appear to be in good shape.
Of course, I consulted the guru about the tomatoes and she reinforced her previous advice that all is not lost. I could kill off all of these tomatoes, start over completely and still have more than she is likely to grow in her stingy climate zone. I took that as encouragement to put more things outside. As a person who enjoys gambling small stakes, such as a few $3.25 seed packets, I figured it was worth a shot to see if Mother Nature has better luck at keeping these needy little seedlings upright than I have had. So far she has nurtured a gorgeous set of peas. Those girls have plumaged themselves some spiky vinelets to go with their ruffle of leaves. They now look as though they are ready for a tea party. Encouraged by my little ladies I planted bush beans, cucumbers, carrots, spinach, beets as well as more peas and sunflowers today. I also had the kids out there planting in their raised beds. My daughter was very methodical with the whole thing and carefully sowed her choices: the dreaded zea mays for popcorn, pumpkins and cucumbers. She left a row open not for future decision making, she knows she wants watermelons in her last row, but so that the fun of planting isn't finished for her. She preferred to save up a little for later. Daniel Goleman would be proud. All of her varieties need a lot of space so it should be interesting to see how they manage to contain themselves in a 4' x 4' plot. My prediction is much like my children, they won't. My son put the popcorn in and had enough. The call of the dirt pile was just too alluring. As for the littlest guy, he went from square to square wielding a toy trowel and making all of us nervous for our plots. In addition to all of those seeds, I plopped a lot of seedlings in too. It's early and I did nothing to harden them off, but they have a better chance outside than with me even with those odds against them, sad to say. So now there is a little herb patch and marigolds everywhere. Project buckshot is under way. Fire at will! Fire at will! After spending the day outside tidying up my gardening tasks, I headed in and began chipping away at the rest of my life that got backed up. Stacks of mail and backpack papers had to be processed. Bills, field trip permission slips, order forms, receipts, paystubs, art work, quarterly investment statements and the like all had to find their way somewhere other than my kitchen island. Under there I also found new Netflixes and past due library books. (It would be nice if the latter took some tips from the former about return policies.) And I finally unloaded my totes full of pots out of the back of my SUV. Much as the idea of always having stock at my fingertips is appealing, as in: "Ooh, Heather, I'd love to see your work." "Well, you're in luck, let me just run out to my car." My children were not fairing well lined up in one row. Not only did I have to do all of their seatbelts for them, but the touching distance proximity was just too irresistible for their little hands. That just never ends well. Now that I am all caught up and life has again been weeded and tamed, I was tempted to start in on new to do lists f the next projects down the pike. But the guru gave me another piece of advice which was to write a "To Done" list wherein you can concentrate on all of the things you have accomplished rather than all you still have to do. And so I have. Well, I have my first show under my belt and I must say it felt good. I received a lot of great feedback which is fantastic. I left with my ego very much in tact, even perhaps a bit distended. To those of you who purchased pots and have now found your way to this blog, again I thank you, much obliged. To the rest of you, well, let's just say there's more where that came from.
Now comes the fun part of unloading all those bins and organizing the flotsam. The hubs was right about the event being a learning experience. I have all kinds of little notes about what I would do differently next time. Better labeling comes to mind. One customer asked if I had more little blue bowls and life would have been much easier if I didn't then have to proceed to unwrap anything that was a bowl shape in my overflow bin. Also, silverpixels suggested I have things in sets and, well, that was good advice. I tried to group things by color, but that still wasn't quite it. I love that nothing in my cabinets match but I might be in the minority of people who feel that way. I think when most people contemplate a collection of dishes that aren't part of a set they think 'college apartment' rather than 'eclectic fun'. I do drink out of Smurf glasses, but I assure you it is by choice not by necessity. Next up is to get a few things under 'Buy some pots' and there is also a charity event to prepare for called the Souper Bowl to which I donate several bowls every year. However these things will have to wait as tonight I need to switch hats and prepare for an evening of nursing. Although, you wouldn't catch me dead in a nurse's cap. But if you do, I implore you, please take it off! It's been a whirlwind adventure, but I seem to be on the home stretch. My final bisque firing is under way. I will glaze the pots tomorrow and fire away for the last time. Then it is all up to the magic of chemistry and physics. My stock for the craft show on Sunday will consist of mugs, bowls, vases and a few platters. Not really the variety I had envisioned from the cozy and delusional beginning when I signed up for this gig, but my table will have wares. Archeologists may one day dig up shards from these very pots thousands of years from now. Be sure to get your piece of history.
The hubs, aka Mr. Supportive, has helped me to reframe my vision for the show. Rather than a pure sales event, he considers it 'market research'. When you put it that way, how can I do anything but succeed? If nary a pot sells, I will know exactly what people don't want to buy. It is like an Econ class, only a lot less boring, considerably more work, and with a smidge higher probability to be ego damaging. Determined to have fun, regardless the outcome, I made magnets today. I used the same little glass I used to use to make biscuits. (Now I cut them into squares per the best biscuit recipe I've ever tried. It is a Fannie Farmer winner. The guy who posted it got most of it right, although he has you brushing butter on the biscuits rather than dipping them in the butter as the cookbook suggests. Hello? Why would anyone choose to use less butter?) Back to the magnets: simple circles with Heather Shuker Pottery scrawled on them. The plan is to glaze them a variety of colors and hot glue a magnet on the back. Now I challenge you to find a piece of artsy craftsy homemade marketing merchandise that is more fun to make. I sat on my deck in the sunshine listening to the dribbling creek out back rolling out clay and making biscuit magnets. Heaven. If my wheel was a touch lighter I would drag that into the sun on these beautiful days too. Or, more likely, have the hubs do it for me. But Mr. Supportive has his limits. As for my garden, it seems it has decided rather than patiently waiting for me to give it more attention, to fend for itself; much like everyone else in my household lately. The potatoes have sprouted leaves, as have the sunflowers and snow peas. The latter of which are my new favorite baby sprouts. Those peas grow their leaves with a stylish pizzazz. I half expect them to throw on heels and go dancing. My peppers are up inside. I've run out of room in the area the hubs created for the seedlings so I've had to move them into my pottery space. Now every time I go to wedge clay I have to shuffle around seed trays. Some may see the shear quantity of seedlings growing in my basement as ridiculous, however I find the abundance comforting. That said we'll see how I feel when I have a peck of peppers to dispose of. By the way, how could Peter Piper have picked pickled peppers? Isn't that a process that occurs after you pick them? No wonder children don't know where food comes from. If the Lord of the Flies scenario happened to today's youth they'd starve to death looking for a chicken nugget tree. |
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February 2024
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