The Volcano Experiment: The Mean Mom’s Guide to Birthday Parties

Last weekend, my sons and I went to an awesome birthday party. It was Daniel’s friend Luke’s seventh birthday. Luke’s a great kid — the boys have been in class together since kindergarten — and he has a pretty cool mom. By which I mean, she throws cool birthday parties. Last year, she hosted a bunch of kids and their parents on a short trip on the Long Island Rail Road to a sweet little old-fashioned ice-cream parlor two or three towns away. We rode the train, played some I-Spy-like games and pored over maps while sporting our “official’ travel badges, had some hot dogs and ice cream, then took the train back home. I had way more fun, as a mom of a partygoer, then I’ve ever had at those giant bounce-house-warehouse parties (they are always over-air-conditioned and loud as a rock concert) or, heaven forfend, Chuck E Cheese, which I’ve dubbed Dante’s 10th Circle of Hell.

This year, Luke’s mom decided to keep it even simpler: just a couple of guests — Daniel, another boy named Jack from their first-grade class, Luke’s little brother Liam, and my little guy, James. The boys ran around the backyard looking for hidden, homemade “rocks” that hid small prizes. They created “jewels” out of rock salt, glue, and food color. They ate pizza. They even made their own ice cream (though patience for the process waned and we ended up with milkshakes, which were just as delicious).

The soiree’s piece de resistance: We made volcanos. Nothing too science-fair-worthy (remember the volcano eruption from The Brady Bunch? Worth watching — I’ll wait!)

What we made was decidedly low-tech: just a small water bottle filled with baking soda, tinted lava-red with powdered fruit punch mix. The kids poured white vinegar through funnels into the bottles, and the mixture foamed and bubbled up over and over.

Here’s one result:

Low-tech lava

Low-tech lava

It occurs to me that what Luke’s mom planned was an updated equivalent of the typical kid birthday party when we were kids. All the elements were there: a backyard; some games; some food; plenty of chances to get dirty.

Now it’s time for my birthday-party confession: To date, I’ve thrown exactly one kid party for my sons’ birthdays, which adds up to a combined 10 birthdays. (Hey, they never asked.) Their birthdays are close together — in October and November. Daniel’s first birthday just happened to fall the week we moved into our house, so I planned a family party for that. It became a pattern: we generally invite both families over for both boys somewhere in the middle of their birthdays.

But last fall, when Daniel turned 6 and James turned 4, both of them had been to enough kid parties that I started to feel I’d been maybe a little remiss. But I still couldn’t force myself (or afford!) to host two big parties. So I chose to have just one, for them both, in my backyard. A couple plusses and minuses:

  • Plus: I rented a bounce house for the day. Minus: It rained on and off, so the kids bounced, then rain inside. Then ran outside. Then inside. (Translation: wet socks, mud)
  • Plus: I made my own food (mac-and-cheese, hot dogs, cupcakes) to save money and to avoid the same-old pizza party. Minus: it rained, so we had to jam into my kitchen to eat, rather than on the deck as planned.
  • Plus: During a rainy bout, my husband led an impromptu, move-the-living-room-furniture-out-of-the-way Chicken Dance. (That one’s just a plus)
  • Plus: My parents helped me clean up after the kids left because… Minus: I decided to also have the usual family party an hour after the kids left. Because I am a glutton for punishment. And it still rained.

I still believe that my impulse — to plan an at-home party — beats the birthday hoopla at all those (expensive!) places, though I think I’d have been better off taking a page from Luke’s mom’s book, and scaling it back by, oh, 10 or 12 kids. This past year, I’ve driven to every bounce-house-warehouse joint and climbing emporium in a 10 mile radius of my house to bring one son or another to a bash. I call it the birthday-industrial complex. Everyone does it, so … everyone does it. It becomes The Right Thing to Do to spend hundreds and hundreds on a party for 2 or 3 year olds, the Right Thing to Do to have a pinata (don’t get me started…), overstuffed goody bags, and favors to top all favors. (I swear, the last favor James got cost more than the gift I bought the kid. Oops!).

Is everyone afraid of at-home parties? Are you?