Baddy Bags

I was searching through my children's yellow bins the other day--big metal catch-alls near the front door that catch *almost* all of the things that hadn't been invented yet when our one hundred and eleven year old brownstone was designed (souvenir visors, Leapster cartridges, hair scrunchies, etc.)--I was probably looking for chapstick or sunglasses.  I didn't find what I was looking for.  What I did find was tons of flimsy filmy bags full of plastic crap.  Army men with useless parachutes, decorative 'erasers' that don't erase anything, 'glow-in-the-dark' key-chains (do YOUR kids have keys? mine don't), colorful hand clapper-thingies (clacka-clacka-clacka) that none of my children would ever use, for any reason, ever.  What I'd found was what remained of several birthday party goody bags.

When was the last time your child came home from a party with a goody bag full of anything good?   

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not one of those anti-fun moms.  I love the excess of childhood.  I have no issue with the candy in the goody bags.  I love the birthday cake.  I love red dye number who-cares.  Don't even try to sneak carrots into my baked goods.  Bleached flour, white sugar, transfats... I welcome these with open arms. 

And stuff?  I adore stuff!  My kids and I are like magpies; gravitating towards stray beads, pretty pebbles, odd shiny things that vaguely resemble letters of the alphabet.  It makes my husband crazy.  I go particularly nuts for those smooth colored glass stones used in aquariums, vases, and mancala games. 

But the stuff in these goody bags is just awful. 

When did this terrible tradition begin?  I don't remember getting plastic bags full of trashy stuff as a child.  I do remember a bowl of rubber bouncy balls at Tracey Braid's sixth birthday party.  We got to pick one as we left her house, and I didn't get the swirly pink one I wanted so I stole it from the girl who did. Then I was sure that everyone in town was looking out for that swirly ball so I hid it in the back of my sock drawer, then eventually tossed it in a neighbor's front yard in a fit of panic--cheeks burning with guilt--and to this day there's a seed of dread in me that someone's going to go mow that lawn, find the pink ball, and realize that I was the one who took it from Tracey's party thirty-six years ago. 

But I digress.  The take-home gift was one substantial ball.  If I hadn't been there screwing it all up with my swirly-girly greed, it might have been a pretty solid idea.

I could complain about the whole goody-bag idea itself--the annoying moment when some kid puts his hand out waiting for his parting gift, the anxious moment when you realize that so many unannounced siblings have shown up that you find yourself rummaging through the silverware drawer to find some tchotchke to satisfy these virtual strangers (corn on the cob holders, anyone?)--but that's not really my issue either.  Goody bags seem to be here to stay, let's see what we can do about what's going inside them.

It's clear from the booty in the bag that the birthday kid's mom had decided to spend a handful of dollars on each child.  I think my kids would rather just have the handful of dollars.  Three dollars, four?  Doesn't matter.  Several parties like that could add up to a really decent action figure, or a board game. 

I've been to a few parties where the goody bags have consisted of one nice-ish thing: a harmonica, a wooden puzzle, a bowling trophy...and I'm grateful for those.  But that is definitely not the norm, even in this progressive Brooklyn neighborhood full of moms who pride themselves on thinking outside boxes. 

Since becoming a birthday-party-thrower, I have tried to send kids home with something kind of substantial (reliving my obsession with that one beautiful ball, perhaps).  A pretty drinking cup, a chinese soup spoon, a colorful bandana.  Something that might be used or even *gasp* cherished, once the tootsie rolls have been fished out and finished.  I have no illusion that any of these suggestions are earth-shatteringly exciting gifts...but at least they're real objects, likely to be trotted out and used on occasion, rather than lying around in the bottom of some junk-bin somewhere with broken Lifesavers and Starburst wrappers.

Of course I've shopped at Party City in the rush up to a kids' birthday.  I've come home with bags full of things that seem like great ideas.  I've done the complicated math in the aisles--let's see this plastic number puzzle with unmoveable parts comes in packs of six, this pack of strawberry-scented pencils comes in packs of eight, and there are fourteen kids coming.  Six times three leaves me with six extra stupid puzzles, eight times two leaves me with two extra smelly pencils, but there's the chance some siblings will come so I should still do three of the six packs but add an extra eight pack?  Makes my head spin.  I eventually learned that all of that energy could be better channeled into buying the right amount of something nice.  And again, there's always the handing-out-money idea.  The more I think about it, the more I like it.  Hmmm.

I know it seems Grinchy of me to complain about toys; there's a part of me (the white sugar part, probably) that's kind of cringing, but let me reiterate:  my kids don't like this stuff either!  Give them some playing cards, some dice, a pad of construction paper, anything.  Plant a tree for them somewhere and tell them about it.  But don't waste your money on microscopic pencil sharpeners and mold-friendly curly straws and don't burden us with them.  It doesn't make us remember your child's party any more fondly, and, frankly, it can't be good for the world.

An original post to New York City Moms Blog.....