The Houghs: Surviving the Social Engagements of a Four-Year-Old

Welcome back.

You know, I don't party nearly as much as I used to. I kinda miss it, honestly. . . but I think if I attempted to 'get down with it' now - as a 34-year-old history teacher who drives a Ford Focus and can accurately quote every single one of the Disney Fairies movies - I'd probably end up in the hospital.

And if not, I'd definitely need a solid eight or nine days to fully recover.

I love it when people colorize historic photos. . .

As it were, 'parties' these days are pretty timid affairs. . . though they can be chaotic whirls of din and confusion, with puking, screaming, and empty drink cups littered about like dead Civil War soldiers (see right.)

So, in that respect, they are a lot like my glory days at Western.

After crashing a local radio station's after party, throwing garbage bags onto a car, freestyling with some up-and-coming rapper, getting into a fight with a couple of lesbians, stealing a jar of keg money from indie band Spoon, and running this 10 foot beam through eight blocks of Kalamazoo's Student Ghetto, we thought 'You know what would top off this whole, pleasant evening, fellas? A group photo.' Aaaand now we all have kids.

But alas, there's no keggers filling up my social calendar these days. Goddamn it. Nay, readers, these days it's little kids' birthday parties.

These 'parties' usually start with a licensed character-sporting birthday invitation coming in the mail and Kris taking a last-minute 'oh crap, I need to buy a present for this random kid I've never met' trip to Target. Abby and Alayna have evolved into social butterflies, with each of them netting a steady torrent of invites throughout the year, so we buy crappy gifts frequently.

Cowabunga.

Of course, I don't mind spending the money on gifts for all these random kids (who probably won't even remember the next day who bought them aforementioned Target gift). In fact, the kids I can stand. For many folks, that might be the hardest part about attending a Pre-K soirée - the constant buzzing of children running between your legs, screaming, knocking shit over, crapping their pants, wiping snot all over their sleeves, etc.

That's all old news to this guy.

No, what I can't stand about these birthday parties is the small talk with other parents. I despise it. Kris thinks I'm an asshole because I don't strike up meaningless conversations with other parents, but honestly I'm not. . . I just don't want to insult these people's intelligence. I can't sell 'small talk' - I've never been good at it, and I'm okay with that. If I have something to say to a complete stranger (or, more frequently, someone my wife knows), then by all means I'll converse.

No.

But I cannot sputter bullshit, especially about some other person's kids. I don't know them. I'm sure they're cool, but. . . I don't care.

See, I can smell bullshit in small talk when parents come up to me and start talking, and I'll be damned if I'm going to reciprocate that.

That being said, it's a rare occasion indeed when Kris drags me out to one of these birthday parties. I've been to a few, but for every ten parties Kris attends, I'll make an appearance at maybe one or two. This last week, however, I was rocking a 100% attendance record - which was impressive considering how insanely busy I was with the back-to-school insanity currently engulfing my day-to-day existence. Kris insisted I go to these two 'cause the first one was going to be full of people from her church, and the second one was going to feature booze.

. . . guess which one I was looking forward to more.

Smurf it:

You can easily spot my kid. She's the one second from left holding her mouth agape - despite Kris' multiple attempts at redirection - for a photo op. We're really proud parents.

Some splash pad. . . somewhere. I want to say Lake Mary, but I could be wrong.

(Abby approved of the Splash Pad.)

They charged kids $2 admission for this. . . which may or may not be appropriate. What you see here is all there is.

We tried explaining the concept of 'recycled water' to Abby, and why she shouldn't drink it. . . but, as you can see here, she didn't care.

It was nearly 100 degrees. Getting in this water was tempting.

If you live in Florida, have been down here during the summer, or perhaps have otherwise read other posts of this blog and heard me mention it before, it rains nearly every, damn day during the months of May, June, July, August, and September. Always in the afternoon, and always as if it were an Indian monsoon. . . for about an hour, then the sun returns. We're all used to it, so we don't pay it any mind. . .

The kids make a mad dash for our Tactical Family Transport Vehicle.

We managed to buckle them in seconds before the Rain God unleashed his fury upon Orange County. I don't envy the parents who had to clean up their kid's birthday party mess.

* * * *

The second birthday party took place somewhere in the touristy area of Orlando - down on 192 somewhere (again, I'm not sure - when Kris drives I don't really pay attention to where we're going.) This kid happens to be in Abby's Pre-K class, and was having Anna and Elsa from Disney's animated juggernaut Frozen come by for birthday shenanigans.

Our kids, like every other kid in attendance, dribbled in their pants when Anna and Elsa showed up.

I should point out, of course, that these weren't the real Anna and Elsa - these were freelance dresser-uppers who I guess do this crap for a living. I didn't know such a thing existed, but it would make sense to hire a team of impostors, seeing how animated characters couldn't possibly crash a little kid's birthday party. We don't live in the realm of Roger Rabbit where that sorta thing's possible.

After eating some pizza, Abby unsurprisingly opted for a wide variety of sugar-based foods to fill up on. Since it was Saturday and everything, Kris and I decided to let the kids eat whatever they wanted. We feel our official family motto should be 'F*** it - it's Saturday."

Alayna hung out at the snack table throughout the afternoon.

Alayna chowing down on some frosting-drenched pretzels.

DONUTS

The Ice Queen's other talents include singing, glove-wearing, and shitty craft-making.

(They're magnetic photo frames, people.)

Alayna kept petting these ladies. I didn't stop her - maybe it was the three or four craft beers I had downed during the birthday party, maybe it was the desire to see this lady break character and scold my kid. Probably both, honestly.