Am grumpy as heck. That by itself is nothing new. The hormones are working overtime these days and it doesn't take much to bring a scowl on my face anyways. But I swear, Raina's upcoming birthday's making that scowl more or less permanent. As if multiple grey hairs weren't enough, now I am going to be wrinkly as well.
The problemo is we're looking at a minimum of 3 birthday parties for the kiddo -- one for each of her years on the planet. First, the preschool party, where we have cake, pizza, a game or two, return gifts. It would be great if I could just drop all of the stuff on Cindy and Ms. Perez, Raina's teachers, and have them do the party thang. But of course, my presence is required.
Then, probably the same day, we're going to do a party at home for neighborhood kiddos and all our non-desi friends kids. (More to come on desi friends.) There, we're looking at around 2 dozen kids, sans parents. More pizza, cake number 2, games, more return gifts.
Finally, it's the desi party on the weekend of the birthday. This is what really gets my goat. Pourquoi a separate desi party? Why can't desis just mingle with non-desis and be part of the great US of A, instead of pretending to be in India? I've grumbled endlessly to my husband about this, and he just laid it down for me: We go to other people's desi kid parties, ergo, we have to give desi kid party. No one at desi parties even pretends that this is about the kid. It's all about the parents and their social life and eating good biryani and bitching about the US and Indian cricket. Of course, now that I've eaten another's biryani, I need to make my own. Quid pro quo, what. So that's that.
It's hardly any wonder I want to bury my head in the nearest sandbox and wait for the birthday tsunami to pass me by. At least Raina'll have a memorable birthday. And it's about the kid, ain't it?
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