Cracking the Parenting Code, and Other Things That Are Awkward ⋆ By Forever Amber

The invitation was to a 'Superhero' party, so, naturally, I dressed Max as Batman. It was a pretty half-assed "Batman", actually. Well, the invitation arrived right after we'd bought him the Harry Potter Halloween costume he wanted, and, to be totally honest, I really wasn't thrilled at the thought of having to spend more money on more stuff he'd only wear once then discard, so, after a short - but spirited - discussion with Terry on the subject of whether or not Harry Potter counts as a "superhero" (Conclusion: No, but with caveats.*), we went to the supermarket, where we picked up a Batman-themed tracksuit and a cheap mask. Actually, I think I have a photo of it on my laptop somewhere, let me just check... Yes. It was only as we drove home that I realised that, instead of buying him a crappy superhero costume he'd never wear again, we'd succeeded only in buying him a crappy superhero tracksuit he'd never wear again: Terry's insistence that he'd get "plenty of wear out of it" being over-ruled by my refusal to dress Max in "character" clothing, for as long as I can possibly avoid it. (Yes, I know the day is coming when he'll insist on choosing his clothes himself, and that's fine (I mean, it's NOT, but whatever), but, for now, he still allows me to pick out his outfits, and it's one of the few pleasures I have left these days, so I WILL embrace it. ) (This is the same Terry who, when I was getting Max ready for bed that night, asked me why I was taking his pyjamas off. "Er, because they're not pyjamas?" I pointed out. "And, even if they were, the fact that he's just spent two hours rolling around a soft play centre in them would make it pretty unhygienic to just stick him in bed in them?" And this, my friends, is why I'm the one who holds responsibility for Max's wardrobe...) I was talking about something. What was it? Oh yeah: superhero party. It was being held in a soft play centre, as most kid's parties seem to be here, and, as we drove there on the designated day, I was worried that, yet again, I'd managed to totally half-ass a costume for Max, like the time I sent him to playgroup in a "hilarious" t-shirt, thinking no one else would've made much of an effort with their costumes, only to find that all the other kids looked like they're been dressed by a Hollywood wardrobe department. I'd only done that, though, because, the first couple of times Max had been invited to birthday parties, I'd dressed him in cute little "party" clothes - only to find that all of the other kids were in joggers. Because the parties were all being held in soft play centres - like this one was, in fact - and fancy clothes just aren't practical at soft play, are they? From then on, I'd always just dressed him in clothes he could easily play in, but now, as we pulled up at the party venue, I found myself having doubts. What if the same thing happened again, and all of the other kids were in realistic-looking superhero costumes, while Max was wearing a tracksuit-that-could-also-be-pyjamas? WHAT IF, PEOPLE? Well, as it turned out, I needn't have worried about Max's "costume" not coming up to scratch, because we walked in... ... and, yeah, all the other kids were in fancy party clothes. Max was literally the ONLY child there in a superhero "costume". At the superhero party. Once again, I had been wrong-footed. Once again, all of the other parents had somehow magically divined that a "Superhero" party did not, in fact, mean your child should dress like a superhero, but that he should dress like he'd been invited to one of Gatsby's glamorous extravaganzas out in West Egg, in the 1920s. How? How did they know? And why do I NOT know? Like, EVER? Because, somehow, I seem to ALWAYS get this wrong, either putting Max in a bow-tie and shirt when everyone else is in joggers, or dressing him as Batman, when everyone else is in their Sunday best. How do I do it, I wonder? Is there some code I've yet to crack? A secret password that admits you to an inner circle where parenting knowledge is dispensed? Is it just because most of the other parents have older children, too, so they've had time to work this stuff out, or is it because they all talk to each other, and I prefer not to have to talk to anyone, if I can help it? I need to know. I need to work this out, because while Max is - fortunately - still too young to be even remotely troubled by the fact that he turned up in fancy dress to a non-fancy dress party, that scenario is, quite literally, one of my worst nightmares. As in, I have had ACTUAL nightmares about it. And, every time I've been invited to a fancy dress party, I've wanted to stay in the car for a while, watching other people go in, just so I can reassure myself that I'm not going to be That Person who wore fancy dress to a causal party. But my child was that person: and, like I say, he didn't even realise that no one else was dressed up, but one day he will be old enough to notice these things, and let's just say I've spent more than enough of my own life feeling like the odd-one out to NOT want that for him, too. So, how do I crack the code, I wonder? Ideally without having to actually interact with people too much. Because, here's the thing: I am HATING all of this. The parties and the ... OK, so far it's really just the parties, but that's bad enough. I mean, it's fine when it's our friends' kids, which it always has been until now, because I obviously know my friends, and have no problem interacting with them - or asking if there's a dress code for the soft play centre they've invited us to. But now Max has started being invited to events with kids from nursery, which means I'm back in my teenage/early 20s hell of standing awkwardly on the outskirts of a group of strangers, pretending to be really busy doing something on my phone, just so I look like it's totally my choice to be on my own, and not remotely because I'm absolutely shit at making small-talk with strangers, and also HATE IT. Like, back in the summer, we took Max to another birthday party, and Terry instantly disappeared into the crowd of parents, leaving me standing there like a lemon, feeling almost EXACTLY like I did when I was a teenager. This is not good, people. I mean, if you’ve read the extracts I’ve been publishing from my teenage diaries lately, you’ll know that my teenage years were not exactly a social triumph. I do NOT want to re-live those years. Or force Max to live them as I did, just because his mum can’t seem to crack the mysterious parenting code, and is apparently regressing to being a sulky 15 year old YET AGAIN. GOD. In related news, if anyone would like to place their bets on how I'll manage to mess up Halloween this year, now would be a good time to do it... *CAVEAT: Terry would probably want me to point out here that he is still very much in the "Harry Potter as superhero" camp, but I've thought about this a lot, and my conclusion is that while he is certainly heroic, he doesn't count as a super-hero, because he doesn't have a superpower as such (No, the ability to do magic doesn't count. Because all of the witches and wizards can do magic.), he's just really, really brave. I did briefly tussle with the idea that Harry's superpower is LOVE - i.e. the love of his parents, which protects him from Voldemort - but I didn't really feel like expounding on that point in a soft play centre, so I regretfully let it go. Harry Potter, if you're reading this, please know that you will always be a superhero to ME, though.)

Cracking the Parenting Code, and Other Things That Are Awkward

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