Admit it: kids’ birthday parties suck. The battle to keep up with the Addisons, the Madisons, the Jacksons and the Jadens become a nuclear arms race of forced fun. Bounce houses, pony rides, magicians and fun parks are the order of the day. Cakes come from high-end bakeries that specialize in molded shit that matches a theme. All parties have a theme. Harry Potter, Star Wars, Ninjago, Disney Princess, My Little Pony: theme, theme, theme. Everything matches. You, personally, may be expected to match. Fuck that noise. We need to rise up and party like it’s 1988.

You may have forgotten how to do so. The ability to party without matching plastic forks has become lost to the mists of time. But you can do this. In the before time, in the long long ago, children celebrated birthdays without themes. Without molded bakery cakes. Without bounce houses and outside entertainment.

In 1988, the golden age of children’s birthday parties, we rocked it. Here’s how.

You give out real invitations you fill out by hand.

Which in 1988 caused enormous drama about who was invited and who wasn’t invited. This indicates a vicious kind of social standing that must be mediated by a teacher. Now you’re not allowed to invite anyone unless you invite the whole damn class. It’s easier on the teacher and makes sure no one feels left out. Prepare your house for an onslaught of thirty children. No wonder parents shell out for a secondary location.

Parents need to hang out.

There’s a simple reason for this. In 1988, children’s birthday parties did not suck for parents. There’s one reason for that, and that reason’s called free beer and parental socialization. The longer the party went on, the more fun everyone had. This year, be that hero who hands out the beer.

Venues stay simple.

In 1988, the snot-noses had two choices: home or the park. At home, you might get to play some boring-ass party games (see below). At the park, you got to — wait for it — play at the goddamn park. Parents would break for cake and ice cream and Kool-Aid, probably the kind with copious amounts of red dye #4.  And in the dark ages of 1988, they expected kids to get hyper. They called it a “sugar high” and dealt accordingly.

Learn something from these wise women.

Speaking of cakes …

Your mom baked it. A few kids, like my brother, had a mom with some decorating skills and cake pans who managed to turn out, like, a Smurf that looked mildly Smurf-like. Most of you were either stuck with melty Transformers or regular old cakes someone had scrawled “Happy Birthday” across. If you were really lucky, your mom bought the cake at the grocery store. Super duper lucky? You got a cookie cake or an ice cream cake. This was the pinnacle of fancy-pants in 1988. And your ass best say thank you.

Bake that damn cake yourself.

There is no freaking theme.

You really wanna party like it’s 1988? I have a theme for you: Birthday Party. The Birthday Party theme includes a cake with the words “Happy Birthday” scrawled in shaky letters, courtesy of Betsy Crocker’s icing tubes. Plates are the cheapest paper plates Target sells; the silverware is white plastic; drinkware is traditionally red solo cups with people’s names scrawled on them. There may be a plastic table cloth and bowls of the following offerings: chips and Doritos. A veggie tray and ranch dressing may be provided. Classic drinks include Diet Pepsi and, thanks to Stranger Things, New Coke.

Party at home? You play party games.

This generation has never pinned a tail on a donkey. Think about that. Remember the interminable wait for your time, the surety you would be the one to get closest to the tail and hence win the prize (probably a yo-yo you’d tangle and break immediately)? You may also have played duck-duck-goose in 1988. You also played such antiquated games as Freeze Tag, and TV Tag. People went on scavenger hunts. Does your child even know what a scavenger hunt is? They’re about to learn. Whichever team wins gets a cheap-ass toy from the Target One-Spot.

Adults ignored the children unless there was blood.

Adults have come to this party to drink and socialize, not fucking hover. Seriously? Kids should run feral. Once, after my cousin opened her presents, I ripped the head off her brand-new Barbie-doll and hid behind the couch. She cried so damn hard her mother did eventually intervene, and everyone was pissed, mostly because I interrupted the aforementioned beer drinking.

Goodie bags mean candy.

What better way to send a child home than with a bag full of sugar? In 1988, you didn’t drop a shit ton of money on plastic crap from the Oriental Trading if you were cheap, and actual Lego minifigs if you aren’t. Kids got Tootsie pops and Pixie Stix and Reeses Cups and sugar, sugar, sugar, plus a pencil or two.

It sounds half-assed. It sounds like very little effort. That’s the goddamn point. We’re talking about regular children, not Prince George.  Just make sure you bring the beer, and everyone will love you. Your kids will have a blast, because their friends showed up and they got presents. They really don’t give a fuck if they got presents.

Swear to god. The presents are everything. And in 1988, we made all the other kids sit around and drool while the birthday kid opened them.

Nothing like a little envy to make a birthday that much sweeter.

The post Why Birthday Parties In The ’80s Were The Best appeared first on Scary Mommy.

“Time to buy a bigger minivan,” I texted my husband on the day we decided we were pulling our tween from public school and instead, opting to homeschool her.

Of course, I was kidding about the van, though homeschooling itself is no joke. As I quickly discovered, homeschooling is a major time commitment and a big adjustment, especially since our kids have only known a public education since they were in kindergarten.

So why did we do it? Well, that’s a loaded question.

Essentially, our child had struggled for approximately 18 months. She’s respectful, creative, and inclusive. But I knew something was going on because of grades, teacher comments on her work, and the hours it took to complete homework each night.

We finally received multiple eye-opening diagnoses which helped us understand what our child’s needs were. And that’s when my husband and I sat down and had a heart-to-heart. What was best for our child in this situation and in this season of our lives?

Let me be clear that we are not anti-public school. My husband’s parents are both former public school educators. My husband and I both attended public school. I’m a former public university teacher. And two of my four children who are school-age attend a phenomenal public elementary school.

Despite our public school backgrounds, our child was suffering. She used to love every part of school from the bus ride, to the ever-growing backpack keychain collection, to four-square at recess with friends, to learning all about science and acing her spelling tests. But over the course of the year-and-a-half, we watched her slip into a dark place through no fault of her own.

It was as if my child had a broken leg, yet was expected to run a marathon and keep up with the other runners. An impossible feat.

The second I threw out the possibility of homeschooling her, I felt a wave of peace wash over me. All of the sudden, we had an escape, a plan to head for safety and relief.

I know that sounds dramatic, but the truth is, when your child is suffering, you’re going to go into all out Mama Bear mode. The time had come to make a big and positive change.

When we told our daughter that we were opting to homeschool her, she grinned and squealed. It was as if I told her I bought her a pet unicorn. Yes, the moment was that magical.

Those first few weeks of homeschooling took a lot of time and adjustment. Based upon some of the recommendations of her doctor, we decided on workbook learning, plus lots of reading time to build vocabulary and comprehension skills. This was just one option of many. For some homeschoolers, they utilize online schools, others join homeschooling co-ops, and some use combinations of these.

It was in those early homeschooling days that seemed to crawl by when I learned what my child needed in order to learn. I was able to provide those exact things.

Her frustration quickly melted away. I sat beside her at the dining table watching her rapidly grasp concepts and succeed at tasks that were nearly impossible for her in the public school setting. Just last week, the math work that had tortured her for years abruptly clicked. On her own, she got 24 out of 24 triple digit math problems correct.

Most importantly, she knows I care. If she has a need, we band together to meet it. And thus, she’s able to learn.

I admit, because of my misconceptions about homeschooling, I was initially embarrassed when someone would notice my tween with me, midday on a weekday, and ask me why she wasn’t in school. Would that person think I was weird? Subversive? Anti-public school?

As a child, I only knew two homeschooling families, and truth-be-told, I’d developed a few assumptions and stereotypes because of that. What I quickly realized, however, is that people are genuinely curious, and I had the opportunity to educate them. I’d respond with a smile, “Yes, she’s in school. We homeschool!” And more often than not, the person would share with me that they also had considered homeschooling.

Those of us who homeschool are diverse. No, we’re not all in a cult. No, we don’t think public school is the worst thing since low-waisted jeans readily exposing lower-back tats. No, we don’t think we’re better than anyone else.

So yes, this progressive mama of a multiracial, adoptive family homeschools. Yes, I have a minivan, our family’s go-to place for blasting Lecrae through the speakers while running errands. And yes, I support public education and teachers.

In this season of life, we’re embracing homeschooling. By 3:45 p.m. each day, all my children are back together again. My middle two arrive home off school buses, having spent a full day in a wonderful public elementary school with teachers who adore them. The baby squeals and runs to embrace them, and we sit around the kitchen bar and talk about the day while eating a snack. It’s a beautiful thing, the diverse ways my children learn.

Homeschooling has been a game-changer for us, an option we are thankful for. It’s bringing our tween’s joy and love of learning back. And that is worth every sacrifice.

The post Why I Changed My Mind About Homeschooling appeared first on Scary Mommy.

I don’t remember getting my ears pierced, because I was an infant when it happened. In fact, almost every girl I knew growing up had their ears pierced as a baby. My sister pierced my nieces’ ears when they were infants, and most of my mama friends also pierced their baby daughter’s ears. These kids are all older now, and none of them appear to be suffering some secret trauma because of it.

So, I’m not sure what held me back from piercing my daughter’s ears when she was an infant. I don’t remember having a big ethical debate with myself. Honestly, I think I just couldn’t bear to see her cry even for a few seconds. Piercing her ears just didn’t feel … necessary. Why hurt her simply to make her look cute or rush to this rite of passage for so many girls? I didn’t feel like the brief shock of pain she’d experience was worth what we’d get out of it.

My daughter is nine now, and I am really happy we made the decision not to pierce her ears. I don’t judge other parents for doing it, however. I know there are reasons to pierce ears that young—babies can’t play with the earrings and get them infected; it’s a tiny pinch quickly forgotten; it helps avoid the misgendering of bald little baby girls (except I could write a whole other article on why this ought to be irrelevant); it’s done and you don’t have to go through the trauma of doing it when they’re older. For some, it might even be a cultural tradition. I get it. Parents have their reasons.

But here’s why I am really glad I did not pierce my daughter’s ears:

Beauty standards are bullshit.

Nine years ago, I was put off by the idea of hurting my baby for beauty’s sake. But what I understood on a deeper, subconscious level, underneath the exhausted fog of new motherhood, was that puncturing holes in my infant’s ears was more than just a minor alteration of a body part to make her slightly more adorable. It was telling her, before she could even speak, that there are certain things society expects of her when it comes to how she looks.

My fear about inflicting pain upon my daughter was deeper and more visceral than a simple wish not to physically hurt her. I didn’t want to send the subliminal message that she must do any particular thing to conform to a societal expectation of beauty. She would absorb more than enough of those types of messages from all directions throughout her life. I often imagine little girls are like brightly painted targets and the rest of the world is firing arrows at them. Every arrow is yet another impossible standard, one more absurd expectation to live up to. I didn’t want to shoot the first arrow.

I wanted it to be her choice.

Somewhere around the age of 5, my daughter began admiring my pierced ears as well as those of her friends. She wondered aloud why hers weren’t pierced—she almost seemed a little annoyed with me. I told her why I hadn’t done it. I asked her, what if I’d pierced her ears and she’d turned out not to like pierced ears? Sure, she could take them out, but when you pierce ears that young, the hole never completely disappears.

I told her I wanted it to be her choice. I told her she could get her ears pierced whenever she wanted to and that we would make a special occasion out of it. She asked if it hurt, and I told her yes, but only a little and not for long. Not quite as bad as when you get a shot at the doctor.

When she finally got them pierced, it was a really, really big deal.

So, my then 5-year-old daughter decided then and there that she would get her ears pierced when she turned 8. It wasn’t something she obsessed over—it was simply something she announced would happen and afterward didn’t say much else about it. Several years passed, and, sure enough, a few weeks after she turned 8, my daughter informed me that she was ready to get her ears pierced.

“I’m 8 now, Mommy,” she said, “and I said I’d do it when I turned 8.”

We took her to the mall on a Saturday, to a little jewelry store recommended by a friend as a good place to get ears pierced, and we let her pick out several pairs of earrings—tiny studs with sparkling gems, unicorns, turtles, hearts. She was nervous but excited, but even more than that, she was proud. She knew the piercing would hurt a little, but she wanted to have those earrings, dammit, and she was willing to endure the pinch. She handled it like a champ, and we went out for ice cream afterward to celebrate.

It’s a small thing, really, whether or not a person has their ears pierced. I know my daughter probably would have been just fine if we’d pierced her ears as an infant. She does love her earrings now that she has them.

And yet I’m still so happy we waited, because the day she made that small choice about her own body was a day that I know made her feel fierce and independent. For her, it was a chosen rite of passage, one that she will never forget and will always be a source of pride.

The post Why I’m Happy We Waited To Pierce Our Daughter’s Ears appeared first on Scary Mommy.

Once upon a time, I entertained my kids practically every minute of their waking hours. My first was born in 2006, before social media was ubiquitous and any parenting-related topic had at least 100 articles written on it. My parenting know-how came from What To Expect books, what I remembered from childhood, and what I assumed other moms must be doing.

So my living room was play-and-learn central, complete with brightly colored alphabet foam flooring tiles and a maze of giant secondhand toys I assumed would teach my 1-year-old to read and probably also how to microwave a potato. Plus, we would do lots of moving activities to encourage gross motor skills. I may have tried baby jazzercise. Play! Learn! Stimulate! Inactivity is for suckers!

By the time my kid turned 2, he still couldn’t read (gasp!) or bake a potato, and I was utterly exhausted from being a helicopter mom. At that time, I didn’t know there was a term for what I was doing, but “helicopter” is an apt descriptor.

When my daughter came along a few years later, I was all set with trying to be perfect all the time. So, for my own mental health, I found myself veering toward a more hands-off approach to parenting.

Turns out, my kids thrive when I don’t try to schedule every moment with pre-planned learning fun. Here are the best parts of letting your kids figure out how to entertain themselves:

1. They learn to create their own fun. 

In retrospect, this is obvious. Of course, kids create their own play. What else would they do? My kids have conceived stories so elaborate that I have jotted some of them down for future development into a children’s book series. They make up their own games too, inventing rules on the fly that only they understand. They collect all the chairs, blankets, and pillows from around the house and turn their rooms into a giant blanket fort. #NoGrownupsAllowed

2. They bond with each other. 

Limiting my involvement in my kids’ play means I’m less tempted to mediate their conversations. Because of this, they interact with one another in ways I never could have predicted. They have the cutest conversations about life, love, and all things big and small, none of which ever would have been inspired by me. They know each other’s hopes and fears. I will frequently ask a question of one child, and the other will answer—they know each other that well.

3. They solve problems independently. 

I’ve overheard my kids spiral into yelling matches just a hair shy of where I really would need to intervene. But almost always, one of them takes a breath, suggests a palatable solution, and they resolve the dispute on their own. Then a few minutes later I hear them apologizing and telling each other they’re the best brother/sister in the world.

4. They read a TON. 

I’m not entertaining them, so when they run out of physical play ideas or just need a rest, reading is their go-to.

5. They explore and investigate.

Children are natural scientists—no scheduling of scientific activities required. My son used to use his magnifying glass to examine bugs and try to light leaves on fire (when I was right there). Both kids know every nook and cranny of our house, have stepped on every blade of grass in our yard, and have tipped every potted plant to see what critters live underneath.

6. They’re never bored. 

This is a big one. The biggest drawback to giving kids activity after activity to keep them entertained is that they grow dependent on others to amuse them. My kids are so used to having to come up with their own ways to have fun that they almost never tell me they’re bored. It doesn’t even occur to them, because they just don’t consider it my job. Sure, we play together sometimes, but I am not the idea provider. It’s up to them to come up with their own play.

7. They learn to clean up their own mess. 

Ah, natural consequences. Gotta love ‘em. Those room-sized forts that my kids love to build? They have to take those suckers down too, as well as any other mess they create with their brilliant ideas. Sure, they’d have to clean up any activity mess, including one I planned for them, but there’s something to be said for making a big-ass mess because your brain exploded with creativity…and then having to clean it up. It’s a metaphor for life.

So, yeah, I still love to play with my kids sometimes, especially if they ask, but as far as coming up with entertainment goes, I’m more than happy to hand over the reins. They probably have a game with imaginary horses in it, anyway.

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