The Fairly Odd Mother

I think I need an intervention to separate me from this laptop.

You see, I have been researching my daughter’s sixth birthday party.

I take birthday parties very seriously. I suppose it is because I am no longer in the high-stress world of advertising and need an outlet for all the energy I forced my body to expend for years on end (I do realize that raising three kids, homeschooling, working part time and maintaining two blogs is work enough, but let’s just say that party planning is a three-times-a-year obsession, and I am definitely an obsessive sort of person).

So Jilly is having a Fairy Party. Maybe a Forest Fairy Party. Or a Pixie Party. Or a Butterfly-and-Fairy Party. Definitely NOT a Tinkerbell or “Disney Fairies” party. Think: twinkly lights, pinks and greens, twigs and flowers. . .but probably not toadstools and elves. More girlie than that.

So, I found this cute party idea on Martha Stewart’s site which should have been enough to stop myself in my tracks. First, it is Martha Stewart. She takes party planning to Level You’ve-Got-To-Be-Kidding.

Second, her pixie party involves getting two white ponies and staging them in your yard (I kid you not). I’m not sure where the hell I’d find two white ponies, but it’ll be March, so chances are these poor animals would be shivering and pooping all over my (not gigantic) backyard.

Also, she says you should ask your guests to come in nightgowns and have the party at twilight since this is when fairies are most likely to appear. Based on the photos, her guests must shop at “Ethereal World” because not one of them is in a Pink Disney Princess nightgown or footsie PJ’s. Plus, like I mentioned before: March. In New England. I’d hate to send the girls home with frostbite as their party favor.

However, this did not stop me. I was smitten by the sweet little headpieces Martha had on all the little girls. And, so I spent at least an hour today (maybe much more; I refused to look at the clock) searching for “prewired millinery flower buds“. I still have no idea what a millinery is but it may have something to do with hats. Or frustration. Or maybe it’s Martha code for, “ha, sucker! Think you can throw a party as cool as me?”

Alas, my search was for naught. Tis probably for the best since I doubt any of the girls coming to this little soiree will sit still long enough to balance a wire head piece on their head.

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Want to see what else I’m doing? Hop on over to Fairly Odd Reviews, my new reviews site that will soon have a jazzy new look.

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“Mommy, why don’t I have any black friends?”

This was the last question I faced yesterday, at 10pm, after letting Belly stay up late to watch King on the History Channel.

“Oh, Belly, I don’t know. Maybe it’s our town, our decision to home school. . .It isn’t on purpose. . . you just don’t.”

What a weak answer.

She does notice the sameness around her. When we drove into Boston last month, she remarked, “I love Boston. . .it is such a melting pot”.

Her comments don’t go unnoticed; I’ve been thinking a lot about the diversity, or lack thereof, in our little suburb south of the city. It makes me wonder if kids who grow up in cities have an advantage greater than those of us whose kids can run around a big backyard.

Jilly is less subtle, as is the way of a five-year-old. She asks me why the little girl in swim class has black skin, and I blabber on and on about how people have different skin colors, but we’re all the same inside. I’m not sure she even hears my self-conscious blather.

To her, it is an innocent question. To me, it exposes my failing as a parent: we have been too insulated in our little suburban life.

A few months ago, I read the first book in the Addy series (part of the American Girl line of books). Addy is a slave, growing up during the Civil War, and escapes with her mother to Philadelphia where they start a new life. It is a brutal story, during which I had to explain why white people whipped black people. Why a mother would leave behind her newborn baby to make a better life for her older daughter. Why this story does not have an entirely happy ending.

As soon as the book was done, she changed her mind on what new American Girl doll she wanted for Christmas. “I want Addy. Otherwise, I’ll just have another white doll, and that will be boring.”

Looking around at her life, I think she is realizing the same thing, and she is right.

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