I arrived with the Cat exactly at 10:30. Yes, I know it is better to be fashionably late, but for a kids’ birthday party, I wanted to get there on the dot. I remember eagerly awaiting my guests’ arrival and in many cases dissolving into tears when my parents would tell me my party wasn’t for another hour or two. (Plus, I know that when I am throwing a party for the kids, there is a relief when the guests start to arrive because any mess that results is part of the party-fun instead of something I have to clean up ahead of time to have a pristine house for the two seconds when people first arrive!)

The hostess I knew (Stacy) wasn’t there. The birthday boy I knew (Richie) wasn’t there. It was awhile before they and the people that I knew would show up.

The hostess with the two birthday boys (Blanche) greeted me skeptically but friendly, asking me and the Cat who we were. She introduced me to the first of the many people who I wouldn’t recognize. Never mind, I’ll meet new people!

Within minutes of our arrival, Birthday Boy aged 3 (Chris) had grabbed the Cat’s shirt and pulled hard. The Cat was surprised, but didn’t retaliate. Instead, he stumbled back a bit and started to cry.

Blanche went up to the Cat. “What’s this!?” she asked me, pointing to my crying son accusingly. One of her friends tossed her hand, waving off the concern: “Oh, Chris touched him a little bit.”

Throughout the day, Chris “touched” other kids, screamed at them when they tried to play with his toys, and complained. I can understand why he was overwhelmed since there were close to twenty kids in attendance, but I was surprised at the rationalizations going on: “Chris doesn’t want to share today, so please play with something else.” Then later “So-and-so, Chris wants to play with that toy, so please share.” Um, can you say, “double standard?”

Birthday boy aged 6 (Howie,) also Blanche’s, had his own set of problems. He collided with another child in the Jolly Jumper and hurt his head, so had to have it iced. Around the same time, the Cat fell funny while bouncing and landed on his sprained wrist. The Cat went to the staircase, crying, and rested his hurt arm on a stair. He bravely explained, “Mommy. This makes it feel better. Makes it feel better and then I stop crying, okay?”

Howie sat next to the Cat. He said, “Why is your arm on the stair?” The Cat explained “Mine arm is hurt. This makes me feel better.”

In a flash of fists that was simultaneously slow-motion, Howie repeatedly pounded on the Cat’s hurt wrist in time with protests, “No! It isn’t hurt! You aren’t hurt! I am the one that is hurt! I hurt my head!”

The Cat shrieked at the top of his lungs. The tears of pain and betrayal ran hot down his cheeks.

Blanche ran to the stairs at the sound of the Cat’s shrieks. Meanwhile, Howie was crying, apparently because he was still angry that the Cat was hurt, too, so he couldn’t be exclusively The Hurt One. Plus, the force of the Cat’s scream probably frightened him.

When Blanche asked me what happened, I will admit that I wimped out.

I wanted to say, “Your child totally beat up on my child! He had sprained his wrist and now it is worse because Howie pounded on his wrist purposefully!” I wanted to grab the Cat and whisk him away, proclaiming my own anger that I had come to a party that was predominantly Blanche, Howie, and Chris’ friends instead of Stacy and Richie’s. That her friends were “policing” the children they didn’t know in favor of the kids they did know. I was angry for Richie that he received four presents while Howie and Chris had received nine each. (People, when you come to a triple party, bring three presents!) I wanted to scream that I was sick of the double-standards and watching both of her kids melt all day. And chastise that it wasn’t appropriate to have the kids open their presents before the cake for a number of reasons:
1) The party had already gone on close to three hours; do the cake already!
2) Kids at ages 3, 4, and 6 aren’t “PC” enough to respond “appropriately” to presents. Instead, they are brutally honest: “This isn’t nice!” “I don’t like that color” “Why isn’t it bigger?” “Why don’t I have more presents?” and so forth. Not a good idea in front of the guests. (Irony: the “I want more presents” came from one of the boys who had gotten more presents. Poor Richie was polite and didn’t seem to notice his dearth, thankfully!)
3) Showcasing the inequality in the number of presents was inappropriate.

But I knew that my knee-jerk reaction would have been inaccurate as well, since we have all been in Blanche’s position at one time or another. I knew her kids were overwhelmed by the activity and having other kids on “their turf.” I knew Howie’s head felt bad and he probably wanted to be alone at that moment, and certainly alone in having the “injured” designation. I knew that her boys had pressured her into opening the presents in their excitement and she probably didn’t think of the implications of doing that, and certainly didn’t notice that her boys had more gifts. Plus, she had no control over whether her friends would also purchase presents for Richie.

So I don’t remember what I said. I probably mumbled something about how the Cat had hurt his wrist previously and that Howie had just hit it, so that is why it was ailing the Cat so much. I didn’t want to rock the boat. And yet I should have found a way to politely explain that her son was at fault and that the Cat's screams were actually justified given the amount of pain he must have been in. (Heck, I'd be crying!)

Blanche shrugged her shoulders and walked away. I was angry and defeated.

After the cake and ice-cream, I was able to tell the Cat that it was time to go! I said our goodbyes (equally to both hostesses and all three birthday boys), and wrestled the Cat to the van. As we left, it was clear the Cat was upset to be leaving, and he had melted from exhaustion and over stimulation, so was crying, shrieking, and protesting. So we left a horrible impression.

All in all, I was proud of the Cat. Although he had his “moments” during the party, he didn’t hurt other kids, even when they hurt him. All too frequently, I am the one whose child is exhibiting the “problem behavior” so it was a welcome relief to not be that mother!

But when I am “that mother” I own up to the Cat’s behavior. I admit that what he did was wrong. I don’t just mutter, “Go say you’re sorry,” nor do I pretend that it didn’t happen or over-rationalize the situation. (Well, I am guilty of sometimes making excuses, but usually not directly to the injured party’s mother.)

I am frustrated by the “my child can do no wrong” attitude I see frequently at the park and at parties. I accept that we raise our children differently, but if you adhere to one standard for other people’s children, you must be willing to set the same standard for your children.

I once called someone’s bluff. The Cat was playing in a fountain with other kids. The kids would run through the sprinkler part with glee, sometimes accidentally bumping into each other. Over and over, I heard parents saying, “Don’t run into so-and-so, or we’ll go home” and “I am going to count to 3 and if you don’t yak-yak-yak, we are going home.” Then they count to 3 and 4 and 5 with no results. Empty threats! Empty threats! Empty threats! and the kids know it. I was watching the Cat have loads of fun running back and forth.

Suddenly, a mom bellowed accusingly to the Cat, “Where is your mother!?” I raised my hand, asked what the problem was. “He continues to push down my children and they aren’t having any fun anymore!” Her eyebrows were raised, nose in the air, arms on her hips.

I looked at her smiling, laughing children. I hadn’t seen the Cat touch them at all.

I approached the Cat. “Well, I am disappointed that you have hurt the other children. You know the rules. We are going home.” and I started to march him to the car.

The mother stammered, “Um… Well, we are leaving in a little bit. Maybe he can come back?”

“No. Rules are rules. If he hurt your children,” and I raised my eyebrows towards the clearly unhurt, cheerful kids, “then we need to go home.”

I would like to think the other mother realized that she was unfair by accusing my son while simultaneously not making good on her threats to her own children. But I suspect that she continued on her "my kids are angels" way. However, by backing up a bit on her disapproval of the Cat, I think it shows she was made aware of the double-standard at least a little bit. Or, she thought I was an unfair hard-ass for actually adhering to the rules I had set.

When we got to the car, I asked the Cat if he had pushed them down. Confused, he said he hadn’t. I told him that I didn’t see him push anyone down, but that if he had, he shouldn’t do it again. We talked a bit, and I hope he understood that hitting other kids is bad, but that I wasn’t angry with him because I didn’t know whether he had hit them or not. We went to my parents’ house so that he could run around outside, playing with the hose and not be “punished” per se by leaving the park.

It is tricky. I want to take responsibility when appropriate, but I don’t want to punish the Cat for other kids’ problems, either, especially when they are not being rebuked themselves.

Answers to Quiz: All but “Cricket” are female, at least via the kids I have met recently. This is interesting to me as I have known males with all the other names, and believe “Cricket” was the name of a female soap opera character a long time ago. I knew “Quinn” was female (thanks Daria!) but “Quincy” I thought was male, until I met the daughter of one of my husband’s coworkers. Seems like people should be taking Sweetney’s suggestions any minute now.

Awhile ago, when I was “working” at a drop-in preschool, I did some of the scheduling. A woman called in requesting an appointment for her daughter and son, “Holly” and “McKinley.” When they arrived, I put the “Holly” name tag on the girl, and the “McKinley” name tag on the boy. The woman glared at me, mouth agape. “Holly is my son!” she sputtered, as though it were obvious. “She’s McKinley!” Turns out the guy’s name was spelled “Hawley.” Oh, okay.

I am all for unusual names (to a point), but I must admit that it can be perplexing sometimes, so for people to get angry at those who are confused is a bit ridiculous.