A Very COVID Birthday

Just when I think moving to a small town has changed my high-strung, fast-moving-America ways, a global pandemic sweeps in to remind me that I still have a ways to go…this time about my kids’ birthdays.

Years ago, well before we moved to Idaho, it would not have been uncommon for us to drop $700 on one of our kids’ birthdays.

If your jaw just dropped to the floor and you think I’m insane to even suggest that, my apologies.  Kindly pick yourself up and brush off the dirt.  Don’t judge me - we weren’t alone in it.  I’m just telling you how part of America lives.  Dropping hundreds of dollars on your child to celebrate their annual milestone was a norm in Chicago suburbia, and my guess would be that the price tag would be even higher in other parts of the country.

What could you even spend $700 on, you ask?  Well, by the time you drop a few hundred on renting out the local “bounce zone” here, a hundred on pizza there, sprinkle in the “perfect” cake and party favors for your closest 20 friends, and add an actual gift to your child…you’ve made it up to $700 pretty easy.

Forgive me, Father.

Your child is then left with a boatload of gifts (that he or she likely doesn’t need and won’t be played with for more than a day or two) and you, as the parent, are left with the clean-up, the bill, and a week’s worth of decompression from the 4 weeks of planning it took to orchestrate the “perfect” 2 hour party…because your kid only turns fill-in-the-blank-age once.

(You should assume I’m rolling my eyes while writing that last sentence if you didn’t catch that already.)

Enter 2019, where we were moving across the country in the midst of everyone’s birthdays – hello summer babies, parents included.  Last year, our kids’ birthdays included gifts from Family Dollar (I had no mental capacity to operate the Amazon machine), a donut from the grocery store (yay! Our new town has grocery store donuts), and the moving truck arriving on one of our kids’ birthdays (look kiddo, all your stuff is here!  Happy Birthday!).

I felt an immense amount of mom-guilt for all of it.  My kids had the crappiest birthdays.  I was sure of it.

So, 2020 was the year to make it up to them.  We even booked flights back to Chicago so our oldest could celebrate her actual birthday with her Illinois family.  We were going to surprise her with a party and some of her old friends with all the bells and whistles.  This was totally going to make up for last year.

And then a global pandemic happened.  Oh COVID…

And every child’s birthday in America was “ruined”.

There we were – all dressed up in Chicago, with nowhere to go.  Literally…it was all shut down.

We told her she could do or have anything she wanted for her birthday that day – in the confines of what a global pandemic offered, of course.  At best, it would be scraped together with a thank-the-Lord open Walmart and a few Amazon packages.

And this was her heart’s desire:

She received a small number of carefully selected gifts from family – gifts that we knew she would play with for hours on end in the months to come.  She custom-made her own cake exactly how she wanted it – funfetti, not too much frosting, pudding in the middle.  She got her favorite cheddar broccoli soup from Panera (curbside pick-up, of course).  She wore old fashioned party hats and candy necklaces with her cousins.  And the whole family ate oh-so-bad-for-you frozen appetizers for dinner with Kool-Aid Kool Bursts on the side.

She was in heaven.

As she sugar-crashed into bed that night, she blissfully fell asleep with a smile on her face telling us that it was the best birthday ever.

Seriously?  That was the best birthday ever?

How could it be so simple?

How could I have missed it all this time?

Why did it take something as drastic as a quarantine to make me realize?

All the “keeping up with the Joneses” was taking away from the true joy of the celebration.  It wasn’t about careening into the next year of life covered in frosting and gagging on sprinkles.

It was about slowing down and feeling the joy.  It was about whittling down the hoopla to something she could remember and cherish.  (And that lesson goes far beyond birthdays.)

I get it now.  It was there all along.

I thought small town America was going to kick out all my fast-paced demons, but this one took something more.  This one took a total shut down.

Less is more, my dear.  Less is more.

I wish you all a simple and joyous birthday this year.