There are mothers who relish the creativity in organising big, joyful parties. For some, the thought of the expense and energy required brings on feelings of stress. Fortunately, when it comes to celebrating children’s birthdays, we can choose simplicity if we wish.
Rising expectations
In the opening pages of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, J. K. Rowling illustrates a picture of Harry’s spoiled-rotten cousin, Dudley, on his birthday. His presents, burgeoning around the living room, are too numerous to count, and so he asks his father how many there are. With smug and short-sighted pride, his rotund father boasts “thirty-six!”
Dudley retorts in horror, “thirty-six? That’s one less than last year! Last year I had thirty-seven!” His parents promptly promise to buy him two more later that day to make up for the mishap.
We may not all be daft Dursleys, but as a parent, I have succumbed too easily to the one-up trap: to keep elaborating on birthday celebrations, and unwittingly, raising my children’s expectations for next year.
It’s not just the insecure parent, but the creative in me that does it. I love building on an old tradition or idea (I launched Mathilde magazine dedicated to old traditions and ideas to prove it). But its byproduct, when it comes to my children’s birthdays at least, is to have a sense of growing apprehension in the lead up to the day, and not the excited anticipation they ought to represent. Now, inspired somewhat by the rising cost of living, I’m on a mission to lower the standards of my children’s birthdays.
The comparison trap
There’s the comparison trap as well. The Jones had a stegosaurus cake for their son, the Smith’s daughter got a bike for her sixth birthday, and the Who-Do-Lee-Whatsit child had thirty friends at his party. Who are you to deny your child the same love and attention!?
Didn’t we all sigh in relief (in this respect anyway) when lockdowns during the pandemic put an end to this zero-sum game and costly cosseting of our children? We all told ourselves that never again – when things Go Back To Normal – would we put that same kind of pressure on ourselves. I think now it was my wishful thinking, but I thought I had gained a sense that we mothers had made a silent collective pact to simplify. Reduce. Lower the standards that had crept up to unsustainable levels.
Simpler times
Get back to me in twenty year’s time, when my children have had a chance to read this, and compare notes. But my hope is that they will recall the simple birthdays they had—a cake (probably from Coles), some balloons (helium, a rare treat), and a small gaggle of friends over at our home for traditional (maybe I can brand it as ‘vintage’), games and treats for the afternoon. Done.
Now, I don’t consider this revolutionary, but if this highly sophisticated birthday model were to be more widely adopted, I daresay our children would be just as happy. Perhaps happier. Everyone will be more relaxed. The children rule the roost for the afternoon, showing themselves to be benevolent dictators, knowing that the annual indulgence is a singular treat. The atmosphere will be more merry, less manic, and there will be less sugar-pumped, tired-child dynamics to navigate. There will be nooks in which to flop as needed for the quieter souls.
This all sounds well and good, perhaps, if you’re only just launching your career in parenthood, and haven’t built any dashable expectations in your children yet. But we mid-career parents can take heart too. I do rely on the mantra (given me by my son) “different families, different rules,” whenever that thief of joy, comparison, threatens to peer round a corner. Children are generally adaptable, and do not brook a strong correlation between the idea that different means less.
Only make it beautiful: with flowers and streamers; and their already favourite toys and teddies present to enjoy the day, (reminding them of what they have already). My daughter turns 8 this weekend, and after all I’ve said here, I might be eating my hat. But I intend to eat cake, and enjoy it too.
Veronika Winkels is Founding Editor of Mathilde, a magazine about women, culture and history. She writes from Melbourne where she lives with her husband and their four young children.
