While it’s easy for me to riff on outlandish kids parties the truth is, I’m a little bitter about them. I’ll never get a chance to throw some crazy bash for Thalia. I’ll never get to sneak a pony up the elevator or have REM show up and sing the birthday song Thalia’s closest 375 friends. Not even if I had a hundred schmillion dollars in the bank. Why?
She shares a birthday week with America.
This would be all well and good if America would kindly do for Thalia what people often do that have the same birthday–have their parties together. But nope. America has gone and claimed the whole week for itself, selfish country. No sharing here. No benevolent gesture for a sweet little two year-old girl who might like a party. Never mind that America has had TWO HUNDRED AND THIRTY birthday celebrations and Thalia’s only had one.
This is the week that kids of friends are hauled off to summer homes and vacation cottages and cabins in the mountains. This is the week the city is so, vacant you can hear the clicks of the traffic lights if you listen carefully enough. This is the week that belongs to tourists, stumbling around with their guide books and purses clutched to their chests in the out-of-towner death grip. You think the blogworld is quiet? Try looking up kids’ activities in the city. The computer all but laughs at you. Don’t you know you’re supposed to hightail it out of here this week, silly woman? This is AMERICA’S week, not Thalia’s.
Instead we’re going to head uptown to Grandpa and Grammye’s for a barbecue, then down to the beach for a low-key celebration with more family. And it will be awesome. Because Thalia will be surrounded by people who love her, love her enough to give their holiday weekend to her and put on funny hats when they sing, just like she’s asked for. She’ll get to eat chocolate cake off Sesame Street (TM) branded plates. She’ll blow bubbles. She’ll open presents.
And then I’ll have a whole year to figure out what the heck we’ll do next July 6th.
So happy birthday America. Jerk.