Laser Tag Birthday Party Survival Guide

Having an end of August and early September birthdays are hard on my middle kids. I feel bad for them because their birthdays are two weeks apart so inevitably their parties are combined because I don't have the energy to do it twice. Summer parties are difficult because Washingtonians flee the oppressive humidity of August. Even if they understand why their friends can't attend, it's still depressing when only a handful of those you invited actually show.

That's what I was thinking when I scheduled the party for Labor Day weekend. With a friend's tales of childhood disappointment in my ears, who never had sleepovers or parties on her birthday because her friends were out of town over the holiday weekend, I over-invited in anticipation of no-shows.

As luck would have it, everyone came. Several more neighborhood kids loitered in the street in front of the house, patiently waiting to be waved over. Including my own four, my yard contained 31 children between the ages of 5 and 12. Thankfully, my neighbors were out of town.

I had the good sense to hire someone to run the party. Earlier that summer, my friend Celeste hosted an outdoor laser tag party at her home run by a game master. He brought all of the equipment to her house and organized the kids into battalions. We had planned for 24 and were concerned the kids would be disappointed they'd have to wait but the kids willingly took breaks in between battles to escape inside where it was cool to play air hockey and foosball. On another table were army men, tanks and airplanes. The weapons bucket in the basement that contained an assortment of Nerf Guns, pistols and light sabers emptied in a flurry of skirmishes, good versus evil.

Final casualty count: one watermelon, two canteloupes, 2 lbs of grapes, 4 lbs of strawberries, 136 servings Country Time Lemonade, two Costco-sized bags of chips and pretzels, and one vanilla cake that served 45.  The rest was a sweaty, smelly success.

The Sears Roebuck Diaries: Teen Employment Adventures in the Infants Department

Infants Department

Installment 2

The ubiquitous onesie was one of the most popular items in the infants department. At sixteen I had no experience with babies but I quickly learned that the bottom snaps on onesies were like an oxygen tank to a scuba diver.

Customers constantly opened the packages to see how big the products were. Didn’t matter if the same brand, same size was already on the floor under the rack. Upon seeing the shiny three pack, customers reached and ripped. Every night I would fold, roll and cram the onesies into what was left of their packaging. I replaced them on their hooks where they would hang for months, distressed like Courderoy, their chances of a Lisa taking them home slim-to-none.

The other most popular item was cribs. Sears had several on display and customers went down the row giving each a violent shake. Then, with the same false confidence displayed by tire kickers in a used car lot, they would pronounce the cribs too rickety.

I would think, ‘Wow! You're right. No one’s ever done that before!’ but I would roll up my sarcastic tongue, unfurl my graciousness and say, “A lot of customers come through here and shake the cribs. A new one out of the box would be sturdier.”

Though I assured customers I didn’t work on commission, I was still eyed with mistrust. That is until I demonstrated the foot release bar on the drop-side cribs. "Ooohhh!" They would nod, marvel at the convenience and then ask about other features.

Then there was the day I wore a Winnie the Pooh mascot costume as part of a store event. The costume was designed for a person six inches taller than me and, with its wool fabric, was a portable sauna. On my 5’4” frame Winnie's legs rippled like ribbon candy. The cavernous headpiece gave me tunnel vision so the assistant manager led Stumpy the Pooh through the store and discreetly indicated the direction in which I was to kindly gesture to customers because I wasn’t allowed to speak. If you know me then you can imagine just how difficult it was to keep my mouth shut for seven hours. The only other times I’ve accomplished this I was asleep.

Getting Out the Door

There must be a Law of Physics that states the larger the family, the harder it is to get out the door.  Its corollary is that, no matter how early the family wakes up, it'll still run late.

My son had to be to church by 9:30am to make his First Holy Communion.  No sweat, I thought, we leave earlier than that on school days.  Besides, I had prepared for Saturday a little bit every day that week.  I bought sandwiches and potato salad at Costco, ordered the cake, and assembled the boys' dress clothes.  Everything was under control.

The first sign that they weren't came Friday evening.  "When is the cake going to be ready?" my husband wondered aloud.  Cake?  Oh, the one I was supposed to have picked up earlier that morning? I raced to the the bakery five minutes before it closed.  Crisis averted.

On Saturday I was up before the alarm.  Relishing the productive quiet that comes with being the first one awake, I ground coffee beans to start the life support machine.  Dishes that had dried overnight on the counter found cabinets and then I arranged sandwiches and strawberries on trays for lunch.

Party prep complete, I set a plate of breakfast pastries on the table.  The icing glistened in the sun, each glimmer a message.  Eat almond claw.  Drink coffee.  Read paper.  I was Dorothy in a field of poppies.

When I looked up the wall clock said 8:30.  Yikes!  I ran upstair to shower.  As I put on makeup, the youngest boy barged into the bathroom.

"Mom, where are my dress clothes?"
"Hanging in your closet."

"But that's too high for me," he whined.

He was right.  Why hadn't I put them on his dresser?  

The second oldest barged in along with his other younger brother.
"Mom, where are my clothes?" they asked.

"In your closet!" Didn't anyone get the memo?

"Mom, this coat's too small!" the oldest called out from his bedroom.  

Please, no, I thought to myself, I can't do anything about it now.  I finished getting dressed and went to assess the situation.  The coat was a bit tight but he didn't look like a dork. 

"Why don't you try on your brother's?" I offered.
"No!  I like this one," his brother refused.
 The coat would have to do.

"Mom, I can't find my dress shoes," called the second child.
"In your closet!" I sang.
"Where's my suit?" my husband asked.
"In the other closet," I responded through clenched teeth.

The bedroom clock said 9:05.  My heart sank.  We had 15 minutes to get there and I had yet to dry my hair.  In my head I saw a flight attendant demonstrating how to use an oxygen mask.  I had to finish getting ready.

A few minutes later I checked on the youngest.  My husband was helping him with his pants.  "Did you see these have stains?" he said.
"Here, wear these," I handed him a pair of khakis from the closet and ran downstairs to see about the others.

In the living room the boys were putting on socks and belts.  One of them wasn't wearing a tie.
"Doesn't one of you have another tie in a drawer somewhere?"  I asked as I ran back upstairs, bedroom to bedroom, dresser to dresser, shifting socks and underwear hoping to get lucky.  Nope.

Back in the living room the oldest was sitting on the couch, ready to go, with his belt cinched around his sport coat.
"The belt goes through the loops on your pants!"

The second oldest complained how uncomfortable it was to have his shirt tucked into his pants.  I could see that his pants were so tight that the pockets gaped. 

"Tuck in your shirt, not your sport coat."

Wow, these kids need to dress up more often.

Before we loaded into the van, I took pictures of the boys.  None of them had combed their hair, one was wearing sneakers and another was minus a tie, but they looked handsome.  We arrived at the church ten minutes behind schedule but in time for the First Communicant to take pictures with friends.

The boys were well behaved during Mass and the party was lovely.  I couldn't have asked for better.  Getting out the door was the hardest part.