When I was a younger mother, I was afraid of many things. Now that I am older, I have a whole range of worries (teenagers) … but I can proudly say I have conquered my party pack phobia.
Such an innocuous idea, isn’t it? Thoughtful even, in its original form. Who would have thought that a garishly printed, plastic bag filled with assortedly cheap odds and sods could become so vilified?
Back in the day
I actually started out with a deep love of party packs. As a greedy kid, I have vivid and happy memories of being agreeably buckled up in the back of the car, tired and sticky after a good afternoon’s worth of shrieking, only to sneak a peek into the little white cake box on my lap with ‘Samantha’ neatly koki penned in the top left-hand corner.
“Not until we get home, Samantha,’ my mother would admonish, and I’d guiltily close up my party box, snug in the knowledge that there’d be birthday cake for pudding that evening.
In those days, party packs were simple things. A piece of cake wrapped in tissue paper would suffice, while the odd exuberant mother might throw in a Fizzer or two. That was it. They were few and far between… and not much more than a little box of leftovers at best.
These days, however the party pack has morphed from a happy little party add-on to a thing of monstrous proportions. These days, a party pack is stuffed with more loot than the average Christmas stocking.
Let me first admit that I am not guilt free here either. When I first got the chance to throw my sons’ a proper birthday party, I made a beeline for the party shop, threw my credit card at the smug cashier and gathered up as many little balloon-festooned boxes as my arms could carry.
The night before that first party saw me eagerly assembling boxes: snipping up strings and strings of assorted sweeties and chips, carefully doling out age and gender appropriate toylets and dusting all with ridiculously unnecessary shiny star and heart confetti.
‘You do realise that those little boxes cost more than the entire party itself, right?’ my husband sighed, as he watched me folding away busily.
‘How dare you put a price on our sons’ happiness?’ I retorted skilfully. (No one likes to be labelled the Skint Parent.)
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ countered Andreas drily, as he flicked through the party shop slips. ‘Not when you have already done so with such gusto.’
Ouch. Never couple with someone cleverer than you. It takes all the fun out of arguing, I can tell you.
‘My husband was right’
But as I watched that, and many other, parties unfold… I began to realise that he was right. Party packs have got way, way out of hand. I have handed party packs over to children who expertly inspect and rate them with a practised eye, before saying goodbye. I have opened party packs myself in horror, to find toys more elaborate than gifts I have wrapped up and given to the birthday boy.
I really don’t want to sound like a Mother Grundy. I mean, hell… it is fun to spoil our kids every now and again. It’s just that – it isn’t every now and again anymore.
It’s become an entire lifestyle. In this world of the McMeal – where our children will beg for merchandise masquerading as food, just so they can get some trinkety piece of plastic that will break within the hour – is it a good idea to be perpetuating that problem with party packs?
There are few enough opportunities these days to teach our children the fun of simply giving, without expecting anything in return. And – on a purely practical level – is it a good idea to give kids who are already sugar-fuelled to their eyeballs, a little extra tartrazine for the road? I mean… why?
I have cringed in shame as my children have expectantly held out their hands at the end of fabulously entertaining parties. My heart has dropped as I have heard them in the backseat, complaining that their latest goody bags ‘don’t have any good stuff’.
Then one year, I took a stand. We threw a birthday party and didn’t do party packs at all. Every child got a cupcake and a thank you kiss, and you know what? No one whinged about it. Some of the other mothers even looked at me with real gratitude.
Here’s the challenge…
Which brings me to the scarier question. Who are we trying to impress with those party packs anyway? Because, if it is – as I expect – each other; well, we’ve got a long way to go, sister. And we have to do it together. So go on. Ditch the party packs and bring back good-bye balloons. The whole school will thank you.
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