I drove by Progress South Elementary just before Halloween and giggled to myself. Cars crammed into the parking lot while others circled the premises unsuccessfully, desperately searching for a parking spot before the party began.
“I remember those days,” I said to myself. “I’m so glad I don’t have to volunteer for those parties anymore!”
Ahhh, elementary school parties. I’ve done my time…served my sentence…paid my dues. I happily served (or at least I faked it) because it was so important to our children. Now you have to understand, when I volunteered to help at a party, I preferred the simple tasks, like bringing juice boxes for everyone. I never signed up for “Head Room Mom.” I’m what you’d call the worker bee in this situation. God did not give me the talent to plan parties for children. He did, however, give me the good sense to understand my limits.
I learned those limits when Michael was in kindergarten. It was time for the Halloween party, and I was asked to bring a big container of vanilla ice cream for the snack. Other moms and dads sent the various toppings. I was in charge of scooping the ice cream into the bowls, and I figured I could handle that. Just as long as I didn’t have to come up with some cutesy creative game or Halloween craft project for the kids.
I was feeling pretty proud of myself. Just a couple of days before the party I found a Halloween vest. I would look festive and Michael would beam with pride. There was the added bonus of not having to wear a costume. Cool!
My pride turned to Halloween horror when I entered the classroom at precisely 1:15 p.m. Wednesday and found the Mrs. Head Room Mom dressed in my vest! Had it been a Gucci or Vera Wang original, I might have challenged her to a duel or something, but being a $5 Kmart special (albeit not a blue light special), we looked at each other and laughed.
The kids returned from music at 1:30 p.m. and my little Superman flew across the room to give me a hug and kiss. Michael’s costume, store bought as you probably guessed, transformed him the instant he put it on. He flew around the yard faster than a speeding insect, and leapt tall blades of grass in a single bound. Lucky for me the costume also gave him the superhuman power to be really cute without being amazingly annoying.
There was just one tiny little problem with the whole Superman persona, and it got me thinking: How did Superman go to the bathroom without taking off the entire costume? And did the cape ever get in the way? Mercifully, the whole lavatory thing happened just minutes into the party, before Michael was covered in juice and glue.
At exactly 1:35 p.m. the kids sat down and were called forward in groups of four to retrieve their bowl of ice cream and choose their toppings. Mrs. Head Room Mom leaned over to tell me she remembered Michael didn’t like sweets.
“I brought a couple of bags of chips for him, just in case,” she whispered.
Martha Stewart had nothing on this lady. I was promptly put to shame. How could I forget to bring something salty for my little Superman? I might as well have put Kryptonite in his bowl. But I thanked Mrs. Head Room Mother and reminded myself this is exactly why I scooped ice cream instead of planned parties.
After the snack it was time for games. Yippee! Pass the pumpkin was first on the agenda. I’ve been told it’s much like the Hot Potato game. Don’t ask me to explain, because I didn’t even know about Hot Potato. Which, again, is why I was put in charge of scooping ice cream. The children followed that with Pin the Nose on the Pumpkin, a relay game and pumpkin decorating. The party went off without a hitch, thanks to Mrs. Head Room Mom and her crew of worker bees.
Our kids are now adults, hosting and attending their own Halloween parties. Sam, our youngest, began shopping for a “Hipster Ariel” costume last week. I’m not sure I want to know about the kind of Halloween party she’ll be attending. Do I miss the old days? Are you kidding? Those were the days of elementary school kids’ sugar highs. The days of hiking half a mile because there were never enough parking spaces to accommodate all the Head Room Moms and the worker bees. The days when I carried Extra Strength Excedrin in my pocket (not my purse, because I couldn’t get to it quick enough). Do I miss those days? Maybe…just a little.