THE GOOD MANNERS TEA PARTY FROM HELL

To say I was an overzealous first-time mom would be a vast understatement. When Barry and I returned from our honeymoon I started asking “Now? Now can we try to have kids? Well then, when?”. It was a lifelong dream of mine. I was the girl who put baby clothes on her cat and drug him around in a stroller. I studied Child Development in college and worked in childcare extensively during that time. I loved children and once I had some of my own, I started implementing my lifelong plan of how to be the Best. Mom. Ever.

It is lucky for me that my first son, Russell, wanted to learn stuff so badly. As soon as he could sort of talk we did animal flashcards over breakfast. He knew the ABC’s waaaay too early. You know, I was THAT mom. He was fertile soil for my need to be an awesome mom and teaching him things kept him busy and out of toilets, drawers, cabinets and the street (all places I had found him at one time or another). His sister, Ivy, was a more content, laid-back kind of soul. She basically just sat still,  observing with dignity, while her brother and I raced around learning things like banshees. (I would like to take this moment to thank Chik-Fil-A for kid’s meal educational toys and books. Russell basically attended Chik-Fil-A preschool.)

When Russell was 4 and Ivy was 2, I had a brilliant idea. Russell and Ivy’s little-kid manners were kind of rip-shod, as happens when you are a new human. I wanted to teach them the basics of good manners. I picked up some kid’s books on the subject from the library and hatched a plan. We would spend a week working on manners, studying a new one every day, and we’d end the week with a Good Manners Tea Party.  We would invite all of our little friends over, instruct them to dress up, read them all one of our books about good manners and have a party. Russell was jazzed and Ivy was along for the ride.  (Let me interject here and say that when I reflect back on who I was and the intense things I did as a young mother I scarcely know that girl anymore. Sigh, youth.)

Party day came and our manners were coming along swimmingly. We made a carrot cake and bought some apple juice. We dressed up, big time. Russell and I were buzzing with excitement when our tiny guests started arriving- it was a spectacle! Bow ties, suspenders, hair bows, shiny patent shoes. One sweet little friend arrived wearing her Aunt’s antique lace gloves. They were all charmed to see each other dressed up like this and they sat nicely through our Good Manners library book reading. All of the Mamas helped get the kiddos seated for the tea party portion. Every booster seat and phone book we had was employed to get these shorties level with their cake. The cake was cut, the juice was poured, and the polite eating commenced.

I sat at the main table with the kiddos, policing their manners (who did I think I was?!?). We were a few bites into our cake and juice when Bethany, who came in with the lace gloves, started coughing. (Please note, her mother has good manners and had removed the gloves prior to the tea portion of the party.)  She was not covering her mouth, which was against the Good Manners Tea Party Rules. I politely instructed her that, “at a Good Manners Tea Party we cover our mouth when we cough”.  She nodded slowly at me and put her hand up to cover her mouth. She then proceeded to puke all over her hands.

Before I could even get up to help her, Russell bolted from the table and puked on my bedroom floor. Ivy followed suit, right there at the toddler table. Another toddler pushed himself back from the toddler-table and tossed his cookies on the floor. It was utter mayhem. Mamas were panicking and jerking the cake and juice off the table in case I had inadvertently poisoned the party food.  Every mom was holding their traumatized child and trying not to shoot “what the heck, Michelle?” glances at me. Puke covered party clothes were ripped off and half of our party attendees were now naked from the waste up. I don’t know if you have ever tried, but it is hard to maintain a sense of polite decorum when you aren’t wearing a shirt.

I abandoned all hope of reinforcing the skill set of good manners to children. We moved the victims and their friends outside to cheer them up with some wagons and a swingset.  My friends are sweet ladies and they never said a mean thing to me about the Good Manners Tea Party. However, I would not blame them a bit if they had  “what the heck, Michelle” chain phone calls going that night.

After the little traumatized people and their moms left, and the mess was cleaned up, I noodled on how this could have happened. I made the cake myself and I could vouch for the ingredients so I knew it wasn’t that. I searched the apple juice for a customer service number and then ensued one of the most ridiculous phone calls I have ever had to make.

“Hi, I need to talk to someone about some apple juice.”

“Yes ma’am, how can I help you?”

“Well, I just had a Good Manners Tea Party  and….”

“I’m sorry Ma’am, you had a what?”

“A good manners tea party. For children. To teach them manners.”

“Oh…….ok.”

“Yes, and I served your apple juice and most of the children started throwing up immediately after drinking the juice. At my Good Manners Tea Party.”

“Snicker….Ma’am, I am sorry to hear that…..snicker, snicker.”

“Yes. It was awful. It was total chaos. They were all dressed up and now the moms are all mad at me. Do you understand? Your juice RUINED my Good Manners Tea Party.”

“snicker, snicker. Yes Ma’am, that sounds terrible.”

They told me to freeze the juice and paid to have it sent back to them. They sent word that they had “tested” it and that it was a little high in acid. Acid, my foot. What it was full of was party-ruining, tea-party-clothes destroying, anti-good manners poison.

Now, at 43, as the mother of four children, my approach to teaching good manners has changed. When my teenage boys graze off their plate with their mouths, like cattle, or shove salad into their mouths with their hands I simply say “poof.” The first time I tried this tactic, my son said,“What does poof mean?” I replied, “It means ‘poof’, there goes my dream of you ever getting married if you keep doing crap like that.”  This tactic has proven quite effective and has required much less of me in the way of borrowing library books, getting dressed up, baking cake and having people over. Plus, no one throws up.