Flarp on Me

Stop! I am here to tell you that I spoiled my daughter rotten last weekend, rotten like a tomato with flies all around it, rotten like a princess who keeps getting more, and I stopped myself as I was stuffing a gift bag and I turned to my excellent friend from Chicago and I said Fred, we'll call him that, he'd love it, Fred, what the hell am I doing? I already gave the kid one party, and now I clean up and I give her another one? Who the hell am I? And Fred did not really know what to say so he kept stuffing bags. We had had an everyone who has loved Rugelah party earlier and we were shifting to little teen friends surprise party. My identity as a mother who really does not give tons o' shit to her kids, or put up with tons o' shot from her kids had temporarily gone down the drain.

And then Rugelah came back home with best friend aka Secret Agent, her friends surprised her, she was all happy, they had a hilarious time with the flarp (play-dough-type- stuff that makes fart noises) in-between serious discussions about world politics (I kid you not) and karaoke. Big Kid had fled to a friend's house, natch. (That's short for naturally and it felt ridiculous writing it.) Why did I plan what was basically two parties for my precious little crabby Rugelah who is not so little anymore? She had a hard year? She did, but no harder than anyone else's. People were coming anyway before she cancelled her Bat Mitzvah? Sort of. I'm a maniac? Yes, that would be it! Over-the-top ridiculous parenting? Bingo! Now my kid has enough crap to open her own 5 and ten.

Here's another hypothesis: maybe I thought that her resistance to having the wealthy children of our little village to our home would somehow - no, I did not realize this at the time! - be neutralized when she had the little doobers over and she realized that they do not give a rat's ass that we live in a regular house as opposed to a 15-room manse with a pool, and they all just adore her for exactly who she is, at least when they can come to her party. I was insane. How much did I spend at the 5 and dime? What do you care? It was very cheap - a real 5 and dime! Isn't it bad enough that my people from Chicago teased me mercilessly for paying $3.65 for each jar of flarp and then later had more fun with it than any of the teen girls?

I will repent, I will. I am never buying her anything again. She has already made her thank-you note list. She is selling her hair to that cancer-hair place. No, okay, I made that up. Her hair is not long enough for that (of course- I permitted her to get a hair cut - another extravagance!) and when she was younger - Locks for Love! That's what it's called, she heroically told everyone that she was growing her hair out for Locks for Love and then when it got long enough she thought it looked so good she changed her mind. I should have just cut the hair off right then, and I never would have been in this predicament. To be fair, and honest, Rugelah was very happy at both parties. She was quite gracious, actually, not only to her kid-friends, but to the adults. She thanked me several times and threw in a bunch of big long-armed hugs. She is all arms and long, long legs, so it is an excellent hug.

Thus I confess. I threw years of solid chore assignments, concrete consequences for bad behavior, t.v./computer limits, and unlimited use of the word "no" to the wind, and with it, a solid chunk o' change, perhaps just to see what it was like to over-indulge my kid. She seems to be okay. For me, behind the scenes, it was a bit ridiculous - if I consider all of the unnecessaries - sorta fun to see all the girls screaming, singing, and yelping at one another, and weird to think that some people spend money like that all the time. It's definitely not the kid who messes those things up, though. It's the adult, wandering around the 5 and dime like a drunkard in need of a dose of flarp.