Every day, Princess Toddler and I eagerly await the arrival of the postie. For me, it’s because I’m still desperately hoping for THE LETTER after sending several emails insisting my manuscript is still of interest. (But that’s another story entirely.) For Princess Toddler, the daily ritual of waiting for the postie is a thrill simply because, well, when you’re a toddler, everything is exciting. The sound of the mail truck, the sight of envelopes being delivered—pure magic in her little world.
But today was extra special. Not because there was a publisher’s cheque in the mail (still waiting on that one). No, today was special for Princess Toddler because she received her very first party invitation in the post. Well, technically her second. But let’s clarify—this was her very first TODDLER invitation. Naturally, I was more ecstatic about this milestone than she was. I held up the envelope, barely able to contain my enthusiasm, and rapturously explained that the mail was for her. I even pointed out her name on the envelope, a moment of sheer wonder for her as she studied the squiggly letters she couldn’t yet read.
We rushed inside—or rather, I rushed inside, clutching the envelope, while Princess Toddler got distracted by sticks, gum nuts, and patches of grass along the way. After some coaxing and waiting, she finally followed me into the lounge room, where we could open her exciting letter. I did my best to let her tear into it herself, but my patience wore thin pretty quickly. With a mix of eagerness and impatience, I pulled the contents out of the envelope.
Inside, the first thing I grabbed was a glossy flyer promoting a party-plan kids’ clothing company. I paused for a moment, slightly perplexed, but shrugged it off. Maybe it was just a random insert? Without giving it too much thought, I reached back into the envelope and gleefully pulled out the actual party invitation. It was adorable, complete with a colourful picture of the birthday boy and fun graphics announcing a “Second Birthday Party.” Perfect! Exactly the kind of thing I’d been expecting. “Ooooh, look!” I gushed as I showed Princess Toddler the invite. “You’re invited to a party!”
She looked at the invitation with mild amusement, but my eyes were already scanning the fine print. And then, just like that, my excitement evaporated. Beneath the cheerful “Second Birthday Party” text, I noticed something odd. There it was—the name of the kids’ clothing company, listed prominently, followed by a time and the word “brunch.”
Wait. What? Was I reading this right? I skimmed the invite again to be sure. My heart sank as realization dawned. This wasn’t a regular birthday party. It was a party-plan event disguised as a toddler’s birthday celebration. My brain struggled to process it. My inner voice was screaming, “This is wrong on so many levels!”
What a concept, though. Invite a bunch of toddlers and their mums over for a “birthday party,” only to have the mums sit politely, trying to keep their children quiet, so they can listen to a sales pitch about kids’ clothing. And then, brunch. Of course, the brunch wasn’t designed with toddlers in mind. No doubt the catering was for the adults—the ones expected to pull out their wallets and make purchases they didn’t plan for.
I couldn’t stop the mental spiral. So, this is the new way to redefine what a birthday is all about? Forget it being a happy occasion to celebrate a child’s life, their passing of another year, and their existence among friends. No, instead, let’s teach kids about consumerism from an early age. Let’s show them how birthdays are now about sitting quietly while the adults browse products, make pressure-driven purchases, and then let the kids eat leftover crumbs from the brunch table—assuming they behaved themselves during the sales presentation.
As I sat there fuming, I quickly shifted gears to avoid dampening Princess Toddler’s mood. “Oh, look!” I said cheerfully, pointing at the invitation. “Your friend sent you a picture of himself. Isn’t that nice? You remember him, don’t you?” She nodded and babbled something in toddler-speak, her innocence intact.
I decided not to make a big deal about the invite. It would quietly disappear from the refrigerator door overnight, slipping into the recycling bin where it belonged. And as for the party? We’d celebrate in our own way—one without sales pitches and with plenty of actual fun for Princess Toddler.