My name is Danielle Alexander, and I loathe parties. Always have and probably always will.
It all started when I was 10. (Well, it had to have been apparent a lot earlier; however, fourth grade was about that time when I began caring about what friends thought of me). I was invited to my very first sleepover party. All of the girls from my fourth grade class were there. I loved the games, devoured the pizza and ice cream, and found the “girl talk” fascinating. But, as the night progressed, I got colder and crankier while the other attendees just seemed to get more hyper and silly. I tried to fall asleep (on the floor, mind you) amidst what seemingly only I perceived to be pure chaos but eventually ended up upstairs, claiming I was sick, so my mom could come get me.
To be honest, excuses like this continued for the next two decades. In high school I used the “strict parents” one. Then, during college and well into my teaching years, I just always had “too much work to do.” Trust me when I say I did attend my fair share of parties over the years (almost always out of peer pressure or guilt though); some ended up being surprisingly OK where the majority just confirmed why I have a rotating excuse list in the first place.
Mommy-ing and Party-ing Don’t Mix
Since becoming a mom, however, parties seem to be worse than ever. Lately, “I can’t ever seem to find a babysitter.” Darn, I say to myself, looks like I’ll have to stay in where it’s warm (notice a trend?), catch up on my to-do list, get a good night’s sleep, hit the gym at 6 a.m., and be a much more attentive mom to my kiddos tomorrow. How awful! I can’t believe I’ll be saving us $75+ on childcare while simultaneously missing out on all of that small talk, numb toes, and food that gives me gas! Ugh!
Speaking of gas, the holidays (aka: the non-stop parties and gatherings) are now among us. Party lover or not, there’s no avoiding them. And, even worse, I always have to host at least one. Even if it’s just family coming, I make lists WEEKS prior, deep-clean the pantry, every cabinet, and even the shoe closet, and am a complete basket case the day of, totally forgetting it’s a holiday and not at all thinking about spending any of it with my kids. I’ve tried catering, paper plates, and other ways to “keep it simple.” Regardless of the corners I attempt to cut, I don’t enjoy them…or the mess I’m left with.
Call me a party pooper or an “old soul.” Call me an introvert. Heck, call me a curmudgeon. Trust me, I’ve been called them all. Parties, out or in, stress me out. Especially with little ones.
…one-on-one dinner (at a restaurant), anyone?
