Several weeks ago, my older granddaughter announced to me, with grammatical precision if not ideal diction, “I like pizza very much.” It wasn’t offered as an opinion so much as a statement of fact. So, for her third birthday earlier this week, her parents invited me to join them for a pizza dinner. I, too, like pizza very much—though perhaps not with the same reverence as a three-year-old.
Last year, she was sick on her birthday, so there wasn’t much to celebrate. This year, at three, she was keenly aware that this was HER BIG DAY. And the pizza party was only one of several events—she had an entire birthday weekend.
On Saturday, she went skiing with her dad. On Sunday, after her soccer lesson, she hosted a party for her preschool friends. Her parents rented a community preschool room for the afternoon, complete with all the classroom toys—a slide, a doll house, a play kitchen, and other attractions too numerous to list. Given the rainy weather, an indoor venue was a wise choice.
About fifteen preschoolers, plus their siblings, ran, shouted, and played in joyful bedlam for two hours. They consumed gummy snacks and the icing off cupcakes, producing sugar highs that made the final half-hour the most chaotic of all. Each child went home with a treat bag containing still more snacks and small toys. The gummies in my granddaughter’s bag were gone by the time we’d completed the five-minute drive back to her house.
Then, on her actual birthday, her parents took treats to her preschool classroom and they had a “birthday circle” for the celebrant—pictures of her past three years and stories about the pictures. And, then, finally, was the family pizza party that evening with more presents and cake.
With all of this, my granddaughter certainly celebrated her third birthday in style—a style that may be difficult to replicate for her little sister, though better spring weather for that grandchild’s birthday may help.
I didn’t brave a birthday party for either of my children when they turned three. At least, there’s no photographic evidence, and I think I would remember.
On my son’s third birthday, I was nearly six months pregnant with his sister. I brought a Mickey Mouse cake to his preschool, where it served as the afternoon snack rather than a full-scale party. My parents visited that week, and we had a birthday dinner and more cake as a family (though I don’t remember any pizza).
The pattern repeated for my daughter’s third birthday—this time with a Snoopy cake and a family gathering with my in-laws.
Watching the frenzied preschoolers on Sunday made me grateful that my days of planning childhood birthday parties are behind me. Maybe it’s a generational difference. Maybe my daughter and son-in-law are simply braver than I was. What I did for my children’s third birthdays felt like enough at the time. I saved the chaos of a party for their friends for when they turned four. And I generally limited the number of guests to the age of the birthday child.
What do you remember of your childhood birthdays—or of your children’s?
My now 50 yo daughter’s 2nd birthday: one of the attendees, a little boy, took umbrage that Erin was the recipient of the gift he brought for her. He thought it was his. Quite a tantrum ensued wherein the parents of the boy, who were also in attendance, had to explain the concept of gift giving. 😜
This brought a chuckle. Most 2-year-olds have a hard time with sharing.
Theresa