Thursday, March 23, 2017

"The Life (and Almost Death) of the Party"

By Jerry Zezima
The Stamford Advocate
For a geezer like me, it’s nice to go to a birthday party that isn’t your own because you don’t have to put up with wisecracks about needing a fire extinguisher to blow out the candles.

Then again, when there are only four candles, you can blow them out yourself without going into cardiac arrest.

That’s the lesson I learned 59 years ago but forgot until recently, when I accompanied my granddaughter Chloe, who will soon be 4 herself, to a birthday party for her preschool classmate Mason, whose celebration was at a children’s activity center where I climbed, slid, bounced, crawled, ran around and otherwise worked up such a sweat that I almost went into cardiac arrest anyway.

I knew I was in for an intense experience that might end in an ambulance ride when I walked in with Chloe and was told by the nice young woman at the desk that Mason’s party wouldn’t start for an hour. She gave me a day pass, asked that Chloe and I take off our shoes, and said we and the 15 other kids and their parents (I was the only grandparent) could have the run of the place until the festivities officially began.

And run we did. First, Chloe took me to a giant rubber slide that was so high it would have made a mountain goat dizzy. I am not a mountain goat (my ears are too short), but I am naturally dizzy, so I was in my element. Upon reaching the top, I held Chloe’s hand and we whooshed down at such an alarming speed that my stomach was temporarily lodged in my sinuses.

It was fun the first time we went. It was fun the second time. By approximately the dozenth time, my knees were as gelatinous as my brain.

But this was only a prelude to a maze called Kilimanjaro. I’m not sure how many preschoolers have read Hemingway, but by the time I found my way out, long after Chloe had completed the course, my limbs were so sore it was almost a farewell to arms.

My legs didn’t fare much better in the inflatable castle, where I bounced with Chloe until my lungs were about to explode like the Hindenburg. (“Oh, the stupidity!”) The structure flashed with multicolored lights and pulsated with tunes such as the 1965 Lesley Gore hit “It’s My Party (and I’ll Cry If I Want To).” It wasn’t my party, but I wanted to cry when I fell out and was helped up by a sympathetic mom who asked if I was hurt.

“No,” I replied. “I landed on my head.”

“You’re a good egg,” she said.

“At this point,” I noted, “I’m a scrambled egg.”

Finally, mercifully, mere moments before paramedics had to be called, it was time for Mason’s party, which was in a back room where the kids could giggle, the parents could converse and I, thank God, could catch my breath.

“You’re not serving beer, are you?” I asked Mason’s mother, Danielle, who smiled and said, “No, but you look like you need one.”

Mason’s father, Gavin, added, “We have lemonade.”

I had a cup. It hit the spot. And the party was fantastic. Chloe saw her friends, including Olivia and Ryan, as well as Mason, of course. We all had pizza, after which there were cupcakes. When it came time to sing happy birthday to Mason, the kids gathered around and helped him blow out the candle on his cupcake. The candle was lit again so he could blow it out himself.

“Make a wish,” Danielle told him.

Without missing a beat, Mason said, “I wish for money!”

He got toys instead, but the day was priceless. Everyone had a great time, including me, not just because I accompanied Chloe, but because it looks like I will live to celebrate my next birthday. 

The party won’t be at a children’s activity center, but there will be beer. And if Chloe learns how to handle a fire extinguisher, she can help me blow out the candles.

Copyright 2017 by Jerry Zezima

Thursday, March 9, 2017

"The Kids Are All Right"

By Jerry Zezima
The Stamford Advocate
When I became a grandfather almost four years ago, I learned that babysitting is child’s play: As long as you play with the child, are willing to do diaper duty and don’t confuse the kid’s bottle with your own, you can be a great grandfather.

But what would happen if you had two grandchildren — one preschooler and one infant — to babysit?

That’s the situation in which I found myself on a recent Friday, when Chloe and Lilly’s mommy, Lauren; their daddy, Guillaume; and their grandmother, who also happens to be my wife, Sue, all went out of town and left me, for the first time, to watch both girls.

Here is a record of the marathon.

5:30 a.m.: The alarm clock goes off and I bound out of bed, stubbing my toe on the radiator. I am off and limping.

5:45: Sue and Lauren finish packing. They won’t be back until Sunday. Guillaume, who already has been gone for three days, isn’t scheduled to return for another 12 hours. To show how challenging child care is, I am the only alternative. At least my services don’t cost anything.

6:15: Chloe gets up. We immediately start playing. This will go on all day.

6:40: Sue and Lauren leave for the airport. Bon voyage!

6:45: Lilly wakes up. I bring her downstairs in her Rock ’n Play Sleeper and wish there was something like that for adults. It would be great to drink beer in.

7:00: Chloe and I make a delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage without burning the house down.

7:45: I give Lilly a bottle. It contains formula. (See 6:45 entry.)

8:30: Sue calls from the airport to make sure everything is OK. “I have to go,” I tell her. “The first responders are here.” Sue sighs and hangs up.

9:15: Lilly poops! She hadn’t done so for three days and her deposit is, to put it mildly, breathtaking. Not to be outdone, Chloe announces she has to go potty. Then Maggie the dog has to go out. The girls are firing on all cylinders.

9:30: While Lilly naps, Chloe and I amuse ourselves by running around the house and generally acting silly. It would be hard to tell who is babysitting whom.

11:00: I dress the girls, Chloe in a nice outfit Lauren picked out and Lilly in a onesie. I get dressed in a twosie (sweatshirt and sweatpants) but forget, I realize later that night, to brush my teeth.

11:45: Lilly has another bottle. This kid is starting to rival me in my college days.

12:30 p.m.: Chloe and I have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch. Chloe gets some on her new white sweater. I try to get it off with dishwashing liquid. Then I stick the sweater in the bottom of the girls’ laundry pile and hope nobody notices.

1:30: Since it is a beautiful day, all of us go outside. Chloe blows bubbles, Lilly enjoys the fresh air and Maggie marks her territory. Miraculously, nobody steps in it.

2:30: We go back inside and continue playing.

3:15: Lilly has yet another bottle.

3:30: Lauren calls to say she and Sue have landed and to see if we are still alive. I tell her that I am burping Lilly. I also tell her not to worry because I have everything under control. Then I burp. Lauren sighs and hangs up.

4:30: I put on Chloe’s favorite TV program, “The Mr. Men Show,” which is now my favorite, too.

6:15: Lilly gulps down her fourth bottle. Afterward, I change her diaper, which is wet enough to fill a kiddie pool.

7:00: Guillaume returns from his overseas trip but is too tired to eat and falls asleep in a chair. Chloe and I have leftover stuffed peppers for dinner. Then I give her a bath and put her to bed.

8:00: I put Guillaume to bed (he can take his own bath) and stay up with Lilly.

11:45: Lilly has a fifth. I have a glass of wine. Then we both hit the sack. It’s been a great day. Guillaume is impressed the following morning. So are Sue and Lauren when they get back on Sunday.

“The girls were as good as gold,” I tell them. “And I’m twice as great a grandfather as I was before.”

Copyright 2017 by Jerry Zezima