Weeks ago we went to a birthday party of Eiza's classmate from her nursery school. The invitation was designed as a medieval scroll: a royal celebration hosted by the king and queen for Her Highness the Princess...we'll call her Dahlia.
I understand how the princess thing is sometimes unavoidable with girls. On top of that, we live in a kingdom. But nothing, not even hearing about Dalmatian puppies once being given as party favors here, prepared me for this. On the south lawn of the prestigious Dunes Club, tables had been set up with white linens for the adults and children. There was a five star hotel buffet and a meter high pink castle cake. There was a red carpet, princess decorations galore, and at least a hundred people, half of whom were nannies, servers or party animators.
Children were asked to attend in royal costume. Upon arrival to the club, the girls were brought to a woman dressed as Cinderella who applied eyeshadow and lipstick while another woman twisted up her hair, sprayed it pink, and attached beaded butterfly clips. Eliza was given plastic bracelets and rings (that slipped off her baby fingers and arms). They gave her a pink feather boa and a crown that were fun-looking but irritating and quickly removed, as well. In fact, she went right for the swing and after that kicked off her shoes and played in the sand while the other kids gathered round for the activities led by the animator.
He was the grand dame of the ceremonies, a large campy Arab (Jordanian?) who would clap his hands and call out game rules to the children. Before starting, he always yelled, "Nannies back! Nannies back!" But inevitably, the Filipino ladies would rush in, one hand on the arm of a kid, the other scooping up scattered candy from the busted paper mache castle. There were lots of games. It was all very overwhelming. Lots of little plastic prizes.
There was something curious about the broken-nosed, sports-jersey dad and all his brothers there. One felt this had to be the most perfect magical birthday for their little princess...or else.
It's not uncommon for cakes to have giant sparklers burning on them instead of candles. But 3-year-old Dahlia had to stand in front of the crowd with the giant pink castle cake burning under as many sparklers as it could carry, then behind her they set off bigger ones, spitting and roaring their sparks. And if that wasn't enough to scare us all, they set off another huge display of fireworks behind me and the other guests. One of Eliza's little friends was so traumatized by the party, she was in tears when I brought cupcakes to school for Eliza's birthday. Shaking and crying in the corner, she said: No! No! I don't want to go to a birthday party!
3 comments:
Yikes. Remind me to fall ill if one of those parties ever comes my way. Especially because my little girl cares nothing for princesses, kingdoms, etc...we'll have a fun party with dirt, pink, airplanes, and other such delightful things if we make it to Zim. Love you guys.
I'm a little late reading your blog. I thought American kids' birthday parties were over-the-top, but the one you described 'takes the cake' (like the pun?). Not sure it beats the BMW SUV parked out in front of the Hunter Art Museum for the 16-yr-old. THAT, I read later, was only the 'icing' for her cake!
Oh, Katy, no PHOTOS for this one?? Hmmm...I'm left to my own imagination ;)
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