I am at that age now where I have kids who get invited to birthday parties. And when I say birthday parties I mean a two-hour shift in an indoor play centre invariably located on an industrial estate in between a collection of old tractors and a radiator warehouse. For some upsetting reason they are never located near or attached to a pub. I’m excluding Wacky Warehouses as their usage of the word warehouse in their name is very much a misnomer. I’ve had new shoes that have come in bigger boxes than their so-called warehouses. Nor are they wacky.
These party places usually have shit names like Funtazia or something to do with monkeys. But the kids love them so we all go along, especially now as we have three kids so as parents we are outnumbered. After checking in and awkwardly saying hello to parents you have never met the kids are usually allowed to run off and into the bowels of the soft play. They do have to return to the party room when the birthday boy or girl’s name is announced over the tinny tannoy like some strange concentration camp roll call to make sure none of the kids have escaped or drowned in the ball pit. I know it’s probably not on the top of the soft play company’s priority list but it would be nice to go to one where they have invested more than £10 in the sound system. I am not expecting Bose sub-woofers to be dotted around the centre but something better than a loudspeaker wired up to a shit microphone wouldn’t be too expensive and would save parents screaming from opposite ends of the centre to each other ‘WAS THAT JEREMIAH’S PARTY OR JEBIDEE’S PARTY? WHAT? JEBEBOOBYBAHBAH’S PARTY? OKAY!’ I don’t think I am being unreasonable.
Our current routine is that our oldest child will run off and look after himself but told to check in every now and again, the missus will look after our youngest (not yet mobile) and feed him if necessary while I clamber through the soft play with our middle child who is two years old. She has not developed any safety mechanisms yet so generally doesn’t understand how gravity works although she is always keen to test if gravity works (the answer being yes and your face will land first). She is also very sensitive so if another child goes anywhere near her she also has a habit of screaming at them to go away. The only major problem with escorting her is that these places are not really designed for people over 6ft so while she slides under and over things with the grace of a ballet dancer I follow with all the agility of an ancient oak tree.
I still enjoy the slides though, just as much as when I was a kid. Obviously if I was going on these slides on my own I would look like an oddball but my little girl gives me an excuse to enjoy them again without being thrown out. Some might say I take it a bit too seriously but it still fucks me off when kids flagrantly disregard the rules warning against climbing up the slide. As a responsible adult I feel it is my duty while travelling in the correct direction down the slide to knock these rule-breakers out of the way like skittles in a bowling game. I think I once actually got a clean strike when I knocked 10 of the miscreants down. I’m not immature though, I definitely didn’t yell ‘Strike!’ at the bottom amongst the wreckage. And I certainly didn’t high-five my daughter.
At some point the tannoy will cryptically recall the kids back to the party room, either for some party games or food. We were at one recently for my two year old where one of the party games was Pass The Parcel. Now I don’t know how aware you are of the rules but basically you unwrap a bit of the parcel and, well, pass it on to the next child. If you are two though you don’t particularly want to take part in the Pass bit and so the game becomes The Parcel. At least until your parents wrench it from your little hands to inexplicably pass it on to the child next to you, resulting in tears. It’s actually quite beautiful to watch as the parcel moves around, leaving a circular kiddy sprinkler in its wake complete with flustered parents trying to explain why they had a present but had to pass it on.
The parties can also introduce a character at this point. Which is great for most kids. Not so much for my little girl who is absolutely terrified of anyone dressing up as any character from anything. Even Peppa Pig, which is like bacon heroin to young children. To be fair Peppa Pig is mildly terrifying in 3D so I can understand why my little girl hated it and screamed to be moved away from the party room. When you are used to seeing something in 2D and suddenly they turn around and have another side to their face you have never seen that must be unsettling to some children. The situation wasn’t improved when Peppa started a conga and her freaky head started wobbling towards us. The only equivalent I can think of to help me feel what my daughter felt would be if Pennywise the clown started dancing the Macarena towards me.
When it is time for food the kids are usually ready after running around like lunatics for an hour or so. So this is usually a good time for some of the parents to swap harrowing parenting stories while discussing how much alcohol is needed to get through some days. Sometimes these stories are interrupted when your child starts stealing food off a neighbour’s plate like I imagine hardened prisoners do in jail to new inmates to show them who is boss. And then again when the birthday cake is brought in so the birthday boy or girl can spit all over it to blow the candles out.
These places are good for people watching. Especially when you notice a parent who is not doing any child watching. This is fine if your kids are a little older and can play with little supervision but I was in a soft play recently (let’s call it Funky Monkeytazia Land) where I noticed a father who could not have been less arsed about his kids if he had tried. Seriously if he wasn’t there the oxygen atoms that would have occupied his space would have given more of a fuck than him. It’s like his eyes were literally glued to his phone. Even when his youngest daughter came up to him his eyes could not be torn away to give her a nanosecond of attention. I watched her plead for his attention several times, only for her to be ignored and toddle away like a refugee. At one point she managed to get stuck in the disabled toilet close to her dad and still he didn’t notice. It was only when my missus went over and opened the door and found her inside looking like a jailed refugee that she was rescued. She would probably still be there otherwise. Even when my missus told him what had happened he just laughed, said ‘Yeah’ and gazed back down at his phone. I think next time we see a parent being this shit I’ll get in touch with my man below.
Daniel McChrystal 