jools’ birthday party was sunday. i don’t which was the greater challenge: handling several three year olds in my home, or handling one 40-something-grouch who wanted to apparently clean the house so well prior to the blessed event that he nearly went apoplectic in the process.

but i’ll stick to the party. for now.

six friends ultimately showed up for joolsfest 2006. the theme: firetrucks. i made a big firetruck poster and BC made little wheels for a “pin the wheels on the firetruck game.” i borrowed a few really terrific firetruck-related books from the library to read to the tots. jools, BC, and i painted giant cardboard boxes so that kids might climb in and out of them. too unsure of my baking skills, i bought a fancy cake at el Gigante – no firetrucks, but plenty of regular Tonka trucks on top of the cake. in short, you’d think i was somewhat prepared, in spite of what my husband believed. but for all that effort, i could have simply sat on my ass and picked my nose, for all the kids cared.

newsflash: three year olds are perfectly happy to run around and play with someone else’s toys.

it does make me wonder about all the parents who are hiring birthday party entertainers for the pre-preschooler set.

anywho, the kids had a good time.  i only wish that I took pictures! i was so crazed and involved that i neglected that critical duty. (one more reason I will be in the particular circle of hell reserved for bad moms.) i think its safe to say, though, that jools had a wonderful day. i hope the other kids had fun, too, despite the abandonment of formal party games.

meanwhile, BC is distressed because one of the boys demolished a baby toy of her’s. Mind you, she hasn’t played with that thing in, oh, five years at least; but when she discovered dinosaur heads missing, she wailed for a half hour. (no exaggeration. sadly.) yep. it isn’t a party until something has been broken. i’m not bothered by it, but i’m trying
to frame this episode as a teachable moment for her – “things are replaceable, people aren’t.”

the YMCA is looking real good for next year’s fete.

i am always intrigued when i hear parents wondering what to do about their gifted children. i don’t know a single mom out there who thinks, gee, my kid’s a dumbass, what will i do to keep him from eating his boogers? it’s always the opposite: oh dear, my child has just composed music to accompany the seriocomic play he also wrote. he’s two and a half. what shall i do to keep him stimulated and ready for brain surgery by age 5?

i must confess that i have had moments like this myself. the other day in the car, we were riding to work and school and daycare with the radio blaring. the first 4 notes or so of “a day in the life” came on. before you could say lysergic acid diethylamide, Jools blurted out “The Beatles!” BS and i looked at each other quizzically (until BS realized by doing so, he would not be paying full time and attention to the road.) most adults i know can’t do that. and “a day in the life” is not a song we play in heavy rotation around here. i’m really fired up about what the hell his little synapses are up to these days.

of course, i mentioned this to my dad the other day. “sher,” he said, “you were able to do that too. apple trees don’t have pears.” which is sorta logical, i suppose. if i’m a freak, it stands to reason that i would pass on some freak-like traits to my kids. don’t know if it means they’ll get on game shows and win, too, but what fun to think about it, huh.

i think people who hope and pray for gifted children have never been gifted themselves. roll over, then, and let me tell you a little bit about what it can be like for a gifted kid. i taught myself to read. i actually wrote stories before i entered school. when they tested me in 2nd grade, i had a college reading level. now all of this can of course make a parent wildly proud, like it is some wonderful reflection on their upbringing abilities and genes. maybe it is. maybe it isn’t.

but being gifted isn’t always the biggest blessing in the world. you end up as class librarian because your teacher doesn’t know what the hell to do with you when it’s time for reading groups. you end up very frustrated when your friends are not reading the same sorts of things you are (i still remember book report time in seventh grade when i chose “soul on ice” by eldridge cleaver and none of my friends had a clue what a black panther was outside of a zoo). sometimes, your expectations of your friends’ abilities is so weirdly skewed. i play piano by ear and have perfect pitch. i remember a game when i was young where i would randomly pick a radio station, listen to it, then pick out the song i just heard. then, i would do the same for my friend amy and get annoyed with her when she couldn’t do it. (and my mom gave me hell for that once, too.) and, of course, there was the time when i told amy to resolve her anger by smashing her driveway with a sledgehammer (i had read a psychology book that talked about getting your anger out in such ways) and her father nearly took said sledgehammer to my head when he saw what we had done.

i hope my kids learn to love to learn like i do — that’s the very best part of being gifted, and you don’t even have to be gifted to have that gift. if they are gifted or not, i guess i don’t care so much as long as they like school and feel challenged. in the end, i don’t think it wildly worthwhile to worry a lot about whether Jools or BC are getting enough stimulation. they probably get more stimulation than what’s good for them, i think. what they need is to play outside. often. get dirty. often. yell and holler and sing and make up stories. often.

and i need to calm down about this whole childhood development thing. often.