“Hey, great party!” a parent laughed while wiping mud off their daughter’s happy face. My own grin stretched wide as I thanked them for coming and made my way upstairs, dodging kids in animal costumes sprinting down.
I made my way to the platform and poked my head into each room until I found my son, the birthday boy. He jumped on our bed in a pillow fight with his friends dressed in a Spider-Man costume, his laughter roaring throughout the whole upper level of our modestly sized home. “You good, bud?” I shouted with a thumbs up. “Mama!!” he shouted back. “I’m having the BEST DAY EVER!!”
We questioned the expensive birthday party formula
We had previously conformed to the birthday party routines we kept witnessing all around us — trampoline parks, gymnastics studios, indoor playrooms. We’d sign up for their conveyor-belt-like process of planning a birthday party. You’re limited to give-or-take 15 kids total. You get one hour of play, then one hour for pizza, drinks, dessert, and gifts. You get a coupon to come back another time. And then they cycle you out for the next party. All for hundreds of dollars.
We started to rethink our son’s birthday party when it came time to choose which kids made “the cut” for the invite. How do you teach a 5-year-old to rank their friends with a hierarchy of importance?
“What if we just had the party here?” I asked my husband one night, feeling exhausted and overwhelmed. We knew the risk of a house party in early March in St. Louis. If the weather were great, it would be easy. But if the weather did not work out in our favor, our home was not ideal. We have a two-story, three-bedroom home, but our rooms are by no means large.
We sawed back and forth for a while until I reminded my husband of the motto that has carried us through our crazier ideas, like living in a van or moving completely off-grid in a state we barely knew years prior: “We’ll figure it out.”
We leaned into the mess instead of fighting it
We told our son he could invite any friends he wanted to his party. What we didn’t realize is that he translated that to mean he could invite EVERY friend to his party. We were staring at 70, 80, 90+ RSVPs, and the count kept growing each day.
Not only that, but the weather was calling for rain. We had an unfinished strip of our backyard that we were turning into a play area, but it wouldn’t be ready in time for the party. So we had a large strip of dirt that became a massive mud pit. “I don’t think we can pull this off.” My husband stressed to me. “I think we’re going to have to schedule an indoor venue at the last minute. I don’t see how we can make this work.”
After living remotely off-grid and moving to a walkable city, I was leaning into intentional community. I wanted to prove we could host a large party in our home, even if it was a little chaotic. We updated the invite and sent all of our RSVPs a message. “Mud is on the forecast! Bring rainboots, a towel, a change of clothes, and a flexible attitude!”
We threw every pillow, cushion, and blanket we could find into our bedroom. We made one room an art room with construction paper, magazines, glue sticks, markers, and more. We set up stations in the playroom and highlighted a rack filled with hanging costumes.
The party became a celebration of community
The party was in full swing. A mountain of shoes sat by our front door. My husband carried old yoga mats up from the basement to form a walkway from the back door to our bathroom. Kids dug in the mud pit with hoes and shovels while adults hosed them off before they went inside. People in the gated off living room played with the younger kids while talking about concerts. Parents leaned against our counters in the kitchen, conversing about the best camping spots. Upstairs, one parent was assisting with putting on and removing costumes while a group of parents stood on our landing, popping their heads into each room to see if anyone needed anything.
I admired how everyone had stepped up to keep the kids safe, our home tidy, and the laughter flowing.
It was time for cake. I squeezed my way through each room of the house, my hands cupping around my mouth, hollering “CAKE IN 5 MINUTES!!” Kids squealed and took the cue to wrap up their activity and head to the front room. I looked around while my husband placed candles on the cake and nearly started to cry. The bodies filled our room, shoulder to shoulder, on the floor, up the stairs, around the table. Everyone seemed relaxed, smiling, and present. My son looked around and jumped up and down, his smile devouring the rest of his face.
We didn’t need to throw money toward a franchise to give our son the best day. We didn’t need an epic house or perfect weather. We just needed open communication, good attitudes, and a bit of letting go of typical expectations.
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