The Birthday Party

I wanted my daughter to have a cool birthday party this year. What could be cooler—especially for a girl who wants to hang with boys—than the rock gym? That's what I thought, too, but my daughter wouldn't have it.

We've had a clown, a magician, and a mask-making party. Last year, I took a truckload of kids to see a movie. Off limits are craft stores, Build-a-Bear, Jeepers, and Chuck E. Cheese's; I just can't go there. And I won't have a bunch of kids over to run around like wild animals and watch movies for two hours, either. Other than that, it's my daughter's choice.

Serena, who's been to a few swimming parties, decided that nothing would be finer than to burn her eyes with cholorine in January. I couldn't argue. It's 20 miles closer, and it's $100 cheaper than rock climbing. I made some nifty invitations and printed them for fifteen of her closest friends.

The school has a rule about party invitations. It's convenient, of course, to bring them to school, but parents can do this only if all the students or all the kids of one sex are invited. So I showed up on the white top after school with some invites that I'd sneak into parents' hand.

One kid in Serena's class, Rhyan, didn't have an address on the class list. So we pulled her out of after-school care to receive a folded-into-a-small-piece-of-paper invitation, which she was to stuff, silently, into her backpack until she got home. Within minutes, I was staring down at a puppy dog face. A little girl from Serena's class had come out to seek an invitation. And then came another. I learned my lesson (but I'm not sure whether it's not to take any invitations to school or just not to invite Rhyan).

On the day of the party, I lugged the giant flowerpot full of dirt cake, two half-gallon tubs of vanilla and chocolate Moose Tracks ice cream, a gallon of milk, and fourteen pairs of one-dollar goggles to the party. Most parents dropped off their kids, but a few, fortunately for me, stayed to lend a hand.

Our schedule for this party at the new YMCA, according to our contract, was swimming from 1-2, then cake-eating or whatever in the activity room, where we would get help with the party (two child-care people were assigned to the party). But when my husband went to take the kids into the pool, they were turned away by the lifeguards and swim instructors due to swimming lessons. At the front desk, we got little sympathy. "They have the right to their swimming lessons," said one of the desk workers with a smirk. But what about our right? We paid $168 for this party before our first guest had arrived. Managers were called. Lifeguards were called. Swim instructors were called. At last, the Y agreed that we'd get to swim at 2:30, when the lessons were over and that, despite the fact that all the parents would be arriving at 3:00 to pick up their wet-haired kids and send them out into the 40-degree blustery winds, the Y wouldn't charge us for going over.

I promised them two things. First, that I would physically put the children in the pool in fifteen minutes, and that they would be paying me if my party had to run over. I also let them know I was calling the credit card company immediately and disputing the charges.

The children played basketball in the room with one of the moms and were taken to the pool at about 1:50, where they swam in a sectioned-off area until 2:20. While they were there, a frightened manager called to see whether I had cancelled my credit card and promised me half of my money back (which I have still not received), and the lifeguards shot us and the kids filthy dirty looks.

Most of the partygoers, with their blue lips and clacking teeth, got out of the water at 2:10 and headed back up to the activity room to change. And then the kids ate dirt cake and ice cream. They were almost silent. Fourteen kids not making a sound. All tuckered out.

My daughter made out like a bandit, with some TV video games, some transforming bug things, a wrestling belt, books, art supplies, and videos. And they were all ready to leave by 3:00. Quiet children cheated of their swimming time, defeated by the system, doing little more than riding way-too-small trikes around a carpeted room. What a disaster.

And then, just two days ago, a couple of the kids came up to my daughter to tell her how cool her party was.