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LOVE ON THE ROAD, AND BIRTHDAY CAKE OVER THE PHONE… MY LIFE AND TIMES WITH MARCELLO
Posted 07.9.08 by annajohnson
Last week I decamped south of the border with son, husband and both parents. My son is a good junior traveler but this trip was bit of a challenge for the little man. Why didn’t anyone tell me that toddlers hate Quacomole and Mole-Mole? Why did I imagine that my child would want to try eating mushed up deep fried crickets or cordial made from hibiscus blossoms. Oh…that’s right, small children don’t tell food anecdotes and wisely protect themselves from foreign bodies by eating French Fries for breakfast, lunch and dinner when overseas.
I went to Oaxaca with the idea that Marcello would be like the adventurous children in the film HIDEOUS KINKY. Devil my care hippie sprogs tramping through the dust full of heart song. Such a selfish presumption. He coped. But now if I ask him “DoyouwannagotoOaxaca” he nods a furious no. Maybe the vibes at Monte Alban were a bit much for him. The guide told me afterwards that this is where mass child sacrifices were held. Don’t you love language barriers? They protect a parent from so much unwanted anxiety.
One of my dreams about getting to Mexico was to detox the kid from materialism. Tragic misconception. Everywhere we went brightly painted toys and balloons beckoned us and even if I tired to avoid toy and candy vendors they chased us down the street….He now owns many dreadful little painted dogs and trains with broken wheels. I deflated the much coveted DIEGO mylar balloon and brought it home, ready to inflate when whining for large floating shiny objects start up out of the blue. On the bright side we played in vast piazzas, watched cartoons in extremely rapido Spanish, danced to Mariachi love songs and dreamed together flying in the clouds. But in the space of eight days he was dreadfully homesick for polluted noisy NYC. He practically kissed the grubby wooden floors when he reached home and I realized how different I am from my son. He’s a little homebody, a man of routines and it’s not just a matter of his age, that’s his soul. He likes lunch at lunch time, dinner at dinner time and the moon in the sky where he saw it last time he looked up. Perhaps we’ll go somewhere like Switzerland next time…less spice, more structure.
This week we are back in the sludge of a New York heat wave reeling from the first BIG birthday party held in our living room. I OBSESSED about this party but in strange non-productive ways. I spent hours looking at birthday cakes on the internet, extremely impressed by castles with licorice moats and layered sponges stacked at Cubist angles. Yet, pressed for time, I then totally winged it and ordered an eight inch polka dot sponge over the phone sight unseen from Betty’s Bakery on Atlantic Avenue. It was an awesome success (see photo) and only $38!!! But as for the balloons and decorations I confess to having spent an hour (OK, two) in Party City co-ordinating the trimmings. The aesthetic theme was inspired by old childhood polaroids and (in my addled mind) Mexican blouse embroidery as interpreted through balloons, cups, plates and streamers. Yellow and hot pink duked it out on the living room table and commercial imagery of all kinds was banned except for a tiny tasteful Curious George doll thing for the cake and an absolutely HIDEOUS Sponge Bob mylar balloon that was left clinging to the ceiling and became tastefully obscured by 26 other yellow balloons. When the room was done I stood there in breathless amazement at the beauty. It looked like a church hall in a dream and was perfectly clumsy and joyous and bright. Why did this matter so much? Because it was my son’s first real party. The year before he got a sunken burnt cake and a wooden castle. The year before that berry and cream tartlets that nobody ate (or even saw) because both father and son fell asleep at 5pm and I sat there scoffing the lot in moody solitude.
Two years on I had bigger issues to attend to….I wondered how five boys would play in such a small space. Amazingly they glued their little butts to the same spot for more than two hours all sharing and playing with the same toy. I swear I did not sprinkle hasish on the cupcakes. The gift of peace was a wooden garage by Melissa and Doug, which somehow afforded magic hours of peaceful access to ten happy hands. This toy was not planned, and instead a last minute BIG GESTURE thing. The fruit of frantic final minutes in a toy store trying to find something epic and fun yet made of wood. I love toys that invite communal play and this one did it…
I felt like a genius and then watched all the invited parents get really drunk, really quickly. It doesn’t do to serve good Proseco at a children’s party. Next time I’m serving heavily diluted sangria and playing awful music so everyone leaves early.
I am not sure why hosting a birthday party is so taxing. Possibly a lot of the trepidation is more to do with your own dreams and expectations and memories than your child’s. I have memories of bright color and rich bowls of fruit. So that is what I tried to recreate on Sunday…and it was delicious to see little boys burying their noses in pink cupcakes with strawberry chasers and standing nose level around the cake. My son silently blissfully picked the polka dots off the icing. I dropped my perpetual sugar phobia and usual nutrition obsession and let everyone eat everything, smug in the knowledge that I watered down the lemonade and put out bowls of cherries and strawberries instead of candy. Everyone under seven got a big fat goody bag with plastic Lolita sunglasses and markers that I hope are washable. Only one boy cried hysterically. SUCCESS!
Three days later the rainbow streamers are still up. I can’t stand to part with them. And I stare for long stretches at the images of the table before it was totally pulped. I haven’t faced the linen table cloth that is congealing in its own juices in the laundry basket as I’m still reeling in nostalgia for the angelic enthusiasm of the kids.
If only adults expressed the same avid appreciation at dinner parties and ran into the room with open arms screaming “Cake! Cake! I love everybody!” Yes, babe, children do indeed teach us so much.
Till next month, KEEPING IT YUMMY.
XXX ANNA
emily Says:
November 21st, 2008 at 5:27 amI just wanted to say how much i loved the film Hideous Kinky, wouldn’t we all love to be Ms. Winslet? obligation-free, voluptously glam prancing around Morrocco with our independent, self-entertained children?
Lia Says:
January 12th, 2009 at 5:57 amHello Anna,
I have been reading your book “Three Black Skirts” since high school and have recently (now that my husband and I are thinking about starting a family) picked up “Yummy Mummy”. I love your writing and perspective (even though it is different from my own and even though I am 23 I can relate to and appreciate your life and ideas). Anyways, what I wanted to say is that your idea of bohemian traveling children made me think of my own childhood. My parents and I lived in Belize when I was little (while my mom studied herbal medicine on a farm in the middle of nowhere). I ran wild sort of, but only to a point because my mom (the ultimate paradox of a bohemian control freak) could only let her first born go a little at a time. I would venture to say that you are also a little bit of a control freak (no offense intended because I also happen to be one) and Marcello as of now is an only child. The first born is always handled with kid gloves to some extent. The other thing is that siblings entertain one another freeing up parents to be a little less hawkish on vacation. You either need to bring a friend along for Marcello on some of your vacations, or have another baby…HA! (just kidding). His birthday cake is really adorable and I completely sympathize with the party planning mania.
Keep up the good work,
Lia (a fan)