Bring in the Clown

I seem to be developing a habit of making a fool of myself at children's' birthday parties. It's getting a little ridiculous, and more than a little physically painful.

It started at Elan's friend Joey's 5th, which was a bowling party. Now, I'm not sure his parents, friends of ours, didn't later regret the decision to willingly place large, heavy objects in the hands of twenty maniacal little people in a public forum, but I also doubt they planned on the one accident of the day happening to ONE OF THE PARENTS.

Elan wasn't so interested in bowling -- he preferred the licorice jar. But Ariel took one look at the bowling alley and thought he had died and gone to heaven.

Everyone was in a good mood, and I offered to take Ariel bowling. He chose a gorgeous, shiny, pink ball, and together we tossed it at the pins. Then, Ariel SPRINTED DOWN THE LANE AFTER THE BALL. I didn't have time to think, but my maternal instincts kicked in quickly. I ran after my boy. Before I could catch him under the arms, though, my three-inch-platform-sandaled feet ("Nah, you don't have to wear bowling shoes, none of the parents are!") flew up in front of me in a move I have only seen the likes of on episodes of Tom and Jerry. I landed on my butt - HARD. Ariel came down a second later, his head smashing onto my knee, which would later bear testimony to the incident in the form of an enormous circular welt that changed color bi-daily thereafter.

We sat there, stunned, my body smarting. Ariel began to cry. Soothing him, I felt good knowing that I prevented his head from smacking the lane floor, the way my rear had, until I remembered that the entire party was taking place behind me. Everyone, by default, had to have witnessed my cartoon-style fall. Superb.

After a moment, a bowling alley attendee appeared, eyes wide, helping me up. "You know, those floors are waxed! You really shouldn't go past the line!"

Um, thanks.

Then, the birthday boy's grandmother: "Wow! Did you pass out? Are you ok? It really looked like you passed out there!"

Seriously -- terrific.

Y, to my supreme irritation, was grinning ear-to-ear. "Only you, babe. Only you and Ariel - my two little impulsive children!" Like it was my choice to follow the ball. I flicked him off.

The host of the party was very sweet and called me later that night to make sure I was okay ("Oh my gosh, it was nothing! Ha ha! I'm completely fine. Such a klutz!" I ached from head to toe.) and attempt to reassure me that nobody saw it happen.

I was hoping I could handle today's party without any major embarrassment.

It was quite cute, actually, the invitation said to bring the kids' bathing suits but it didn't say why. It turned out that they had set up an enormous, blow-up water slide in the front yard, with lots of little kiddy pools strewn about, and the kids were having a blast. Elan was too afraid to try going down the water slide, which didn't particularly surprise me, but he was convincing his best friend not to go down either and this seemed to be bothering the other kid's dad.

I felt sure that if they both just tried it once, they'd have an amazing time, and would enjoy the party that much more. They kept climbing up the inflatable stairs, and then wimping out near the top, where a rainstorm of cold water sprinkled the entry to the slide. Everyone was trying to convince the boys to go down, several fathers (Y was home with Ariel) offered to climb up and give them a push, but I knew Elan, and I knew he wouldn't go down unless I was the one to push him. So, in a moment of true temporary insanity which I can only explain as what happens when you stand baking in 100-degree heat for a half hour, I decided to climb up the stairs myself, shove the giggling Elan down the slide - myself.

Though the "stairs" were pretty narrow, I managed to get up there without falling, and without popping and deflating the whole thing. But I was soaked and dirty, and the landing at the top was tiny, and when I tried to get the boys to go down they became terrified and resisted with all of their strength. Willing to concede that this hadn't been my most informed idea, I figured I'd just go back down the way I came and hope for the best.

But by this point all of the other children, slippery in wet bathing suits, had scrambled up the stairs behind me, and were bouncing around, waiting their turns. Suddenly, they got tired of waiting, and just started stomping up, around, and over me in one big sunscreen-scented mudpuddle AS IF I DIDN'T EXIST. By the time the coast was clear, and I half-climbed, half-slid back down, I was a sopping, stringy-haired, grass-stained monster.

I tried to laugh it off for a little while, but after an intense encounter with the crudite and dip, I bailed.

I swear to G-d, Y is handling the next party.

At least I remembered to bring a gift this time.