Day in the Life of a New York City SAHM Prepping for a Four-Year-Old's Birthday Party

HOW many kids are coming?!?

The Pomegranate is pleased to feature a day in the life of Aisling Marron, an Irish writer living in NYC.

5:52 am: Woken by my 4-year-old, in bed beside me, whose first words of the day are “Egypt is really hot because Africa is there.” I guess that’s right…almost. Good morning to you too.

6:00: I count the number of children coming to the party (18).

6:01: The 4-year-old asks me if the candy I ordered for the pinata arrived last night (yes it did).

6:10: We are still in bed. The questions from the 4-year-old are coming thick and fast. “When is my birthday gonna be? One day?” She has vetoed Rice Krispie buns and reminds me once again how she DOES NOT want Rice Krispie buns. I tell her I’m gonna make them for the grown ups because I’d like one with my tea. 4yo: “Nope. If you make them, I’ll CRUSH them.” Bit aggressive but okaaaaaay.

6:25: The 6-year-old, who is also in bed beside us, wakes up and tells us she was making a dream out of our voices.

6:30: I get up, make coffee, make the kids’ breakfast. Referee a fight between them. Broker peace.

6:50: Do the laundry while noting I’m particularly irritated by the constant “Moooom” requests today. Pour my own coffee and have breakfast. Tidy our bedroom. Continue with laundry.

7:50: shower

8:05: As I’m making the lunches, the 6-year-old asks us to guess her charade. She claps her hands over her head and between us, my husband and I guess “Jumping jacks! Waving at a concert! Drowning!” She tells us she was a scissors.

At 8:15, we leave the apartment. “Enjoy the day,” the doorman says to us, “It’s gonna be a comfortable one.”

The three of us walk to school with the 4-year-old in the stroller and the 6 year old scooting along beside us. I drop one kid off at Pre-K (8:30) and then the other at first grade in another school (8:45). Between the two schools, the 6-year-old and I discuss topics ranging from her tooth coming out to colonialism.

This sounds unlikely but it’s come up a lot over the past few weeks, ever since they asked why there’s so many Irish people in America and then why Ireland was so poor for so long and then why Irish people don’t speak Irish. I’ve responded with what I hope are age appropriate (but truthful) answers (i.e. just say: ‘England’). It means my kids seriously hate on England now but if you can’t pass on your prejudices to the next generation, what’s the point in having kids?

8:50 With both kids deposited at school, I see a text from my husband to call him. It sounds urgent but when I call him he suggests we get coffee and also asks me what the weather is like and what he should wear. I look around and summarise the outfits of everyone around me: shorts, t-shirts and Birkenstocks and we agree to meet in Tartinery at Columbus Circle. We are there for 9:05 and both have juice.

At 9:40, we walk together down Broadway and part at Times Square - me, for a hair appointment and David to go buy jeans. I arrive at 10:06, 6 minutes late for my 10am appointment but it’s OK because my stylist is coming in behind me. A friend put me onto this hairdresser last year. It is low-cost, low-frills. No frills, I dare say. Forget your free champagne, coffee or even a glass of water. You’ll be lucky to get a smile in here…and it suits me down to the ground.

Today’s hair stylist didn’t get the memo that the place is to be deathly silent. She chats away and asks what I’m doing for the day, asks about the theme of the birthday party (KPop Demon Hunters), asks to see a picture of the kids, tells me they are adorable and that they clearly get it from me. She looks exactly like a blond version of the Nanny from the 1990s sitcom of the same name and she is really nice.

10:25: My colour is in and I’m stewing under the heater when I suddenly wonder if my scalp is burning? Definitely tingling.. is that a burn? (This is the price you pay for low cost hairdressers. I say nothing). In the chair, I check my email. There’s an invitation to a Knicks game next week which I gladly accept and there’s an email from yet another Dublin school to say they are full up for September. A family of 3 kids has also confirmed their attendance at the party since this morning, bringing the kid total up to 21. I remember a kid in our building I forgot to ask and I text his parents, hoping it doesn’t sound too much like an afterthought.

10:38: The kid in our building accepts so we are up to 22.

11:02: The blond Nanny asks how much I want off and I say to my shoulder. She is shocked and asks in disbelief “Are you sure you want THAT much off, coming into summer?”. I know the reason she can’t picture anyone having hair that short is because she is in her twenties... but the level of her shock influenced me sufficiently that I agree to her suggestion of “Okay, let’s just do two inches”. She holds up what she thinks is two inches but which is definitely only one inch and I say “Actually, three inches” (hoping she’ll cut two).

I kind of love this Nanny lookalike. Her name is Jennifer.

I bumped into a woman I know at the salon! A mom of a friend of my 6-year-old. She didn’t recognise me straight away, which was very gratifying as I said hello to her while I had the hairdresser cape on and colour in my hair aka the ugliest you will ever look in your life. I contemplate inviting her boys to the party too and try to figure out if I could manage that without it seeming like an afterthought. It would bring us up to 24 kids but feck it, I may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb at this stage. And they did invite us to their 5-year-old’s party. (I often feel like my role since I gave up my job and moved to America to support my husband’s career has been “diplomat’s spouse.” As you can see, I am not very good at it.)

I decide I will ask her but when I go to leave, she is inside the fumigation room and it looks like I’d be taking my life in my hands to enter it. (This place is just so cheap you seriously don’t ask any questions). Instead I text her as soon as I leave and she responds immediately that they would love to come. We are now up to 24 children and as many adults.

11:42: I’m feeling peckish and decide I’ll get lunch even though it is not yet noon. I head for the Halal Guys cart on 53rd, which I’ve never had before because there is always an insane line but surely in the AM I will beat the line. There is no line! I order a chicken platter (11:53) and walked toward Bryant Park to meet David for lunch.

12pm My Fitbit buzzes to let me know I’ve done 10 thousand steps. I will miss all this walking when we leave NYC.

12:05: I’m starting to get a bit stressed about the number of kids coming to the party now. 24. Shiiiit. The only entertainment I have is 40 colouring pages of KPop Demon Hunters, some tattoo transfers and a toy tunnel for kids to crawl through (which I’m hoping will do some seriously heavy lifting on the entertainment front on the day). After that, we have a pin the tail on the Derpy game and Pass The Parcel. I was going to leave out Pass The Parcel as it is just a LOGISTICAL NIGHTMARE ever since they introduced a present into every layer. The stress of organising it simply cannot be overstated. But the 7 year old down the hall told me she is really looking forward to the party “especially the pass game” and that one comment alone has pressured me into keeping it in my party games repertoire.

At 12:19 I arrive at Bryant Park. It is so pretty! David already has a poké bowl and he admires my chicken platter but suggests pork would have been a better option. I tell him there was no pork option at the Halal cart.

When we’re finished around 12:50, we wander up 5th Avenue and part ways outside Aritzia (1:01). David never noticed my hair. Good thing it didn’t cost a lot. (It still cost $200). Aritzia’s new shop is so nice! I must leave the house to shop more. I buy this shirt which I love.

At 1:26 I leave Aritzia and get the D train home. Pour myself a big glass of Robinsons, crack a can of Diet Coke, crank the aircon and jump into bed for 45 minutes before I have to collect the kids. (I’m not explaining British cultural references to American readers. You have to figure it out yourself like we spent our whole lives doing. Here is a picture as a context clue for Robinsons):

1:40: I needed some downtime before the afternoon ahead of me because I know it is a busy one. “Downtime from what? You didn’t do a single thing to progress the party one bit,” you might say, and you would be correct. But constantly counting up kids and wondering if we have enough cake (which I also haven’t bought) to go round...it’s exhausting.

2:34 I leave on foot for the ten minute walk to collect one kid from school and then the other. The 4-year-old and I stop into Duane Reade between schools to buy some small toys for Pass the Parcel.

The kids have activities after school every day of the week and today it is speech therapy and fashion/sewing class! There was only one day this year I wasn’t able to do the school pick-up and a babysitter had to step in. I wrote a detailed set of instructions for school collection for her and right as I typed out the line “then get a cab to the Upper East Side and drop the 6-year-old at her fashion class,” I had an out-of-body experience where I realised our lives are ridiculous.

3:15: We hail a cab, as per my instructions, to the Upper East Side. At 3:50, the 6-year-old jumps out for her sewing class where she is making a skirt (with pockets!) and the 4-year-old and I continue on to her 4pm speech appointment. At 4:30, we are all finished and have an hour to kill before collection at fashion school. We call into a toy shop to buy more gifts for Pass the Parcel. The 4-year-old asks me for a Labubu while we’re there and I say no but when she’s not looking, I secretly buy it to add to the present we got her for tomorrow (a bubble gun). We stroll towards the sewing class and kill more time waiting at reception there where I do the same (secretly buy a sequinned hairband she admired). At 5:30, the 6-year-old appears and the 3 of us Subway down to 57th street and then walk home. In the subway elevator out of the station, the 4-year-old petted a dog while the 6-year-old told me about a parent who came to school today to share with the class their family tradition (Shabbat).

At 6:15, we’re walking in the apartment door and I start on the kids’ dinner (pasta and meatballs). Now the party prep begins in earnest. I start to wrap the gifts for Pass the Parcel but the kids want to help me and not just help me but actually wrap the presents themselves. The thing is though, they are APPALLING at wrapping and refuse to accept the role I keep trying to give them: simply passing me the sellotape. It was disastrous. In the end they stress me out so much, I put them in front of the TV with their (now made) dinner.

At 7:10 Dave got home and I asked him to fill the pinata with candy with the kids. I asked the 6-year-old to pick a card from the birthday card box for her sister and to put bun cases on a tray while I melted chocolate for rice krispie buns. I asked the 4 year old to put out the toy microphones I bought and she said: “Actually, I don’t have time. I have to hop.” (This is not a colloquialism, she literally had to go hop on one foot).

At 8 o’clock, David put the kids to bed while I arranged a colouring station, hung up the pin the tail on the Derpy and searched Netflix for KPop singalong songs. I prepared the party bags and realised I managed to buy 30 party bags but contents for only 12. I raided the pinata to pad them out, adding unblown balloons I decided we no longer needed at the party too.

At 9:05, I popped out to Whole Foods, bringing the stroller for storage, to buy a birthday cake, berries and wrapping paper for Pass the Parcel because the three rolls I bought were not enough!! I pick up a prepared birthday cake but worry it is not big enough so buy a few dozen cupcakes too. I pick up some sugar-free lollies at the till to go into the party bags which are still a bit light. I call in to Target on the way home because Whole Foods had no wrapping paper but Target doesn’t either!!! I decide I’m calling it a night. I’m dead on my feet. I’ll go get it in the morning.

I get home at 9:47 but the takeout David had ordered still hasn’t arrived so I continue tidying up and preparing for the party until it does. David declares the place is “in pretty good shape” and plonks himself on the couch. I point out plenty of things still to be done and any time his arse gets anywhere near the couch, I give him another specific job. At 10:32, while he is washing the dishes that I told him to, I plonk MY arse on the couch.

I write a list of things I have to do tomorrow which is very little: wash the fruit, set the table, finish Pass the Parcel… aaand I’m done. 23,128 steps taken today. At 10:40pm, our takeout arrives and we split a Thai curry for dinner on the couch before bed.

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When I first heard the price of the standard 90-minute birthday party at the local soft play centre where we spend most weekends at other kids birthdays ($1,500 and you have to bring your own cake), my soul near left my body.

But you know, I spent a good chunk of this day thinking how I would happily pay $1,500 if it meant I never had to organise a game of Pass the Parcel again. I wouldn’t have to do a thing (except order the cake).

This is a note to self that I am NOT hosting a home birthday party next year. But then, I say that every year....

Aisling Marron is a SAHM as well as writer of bestselling weekly newsletter, “Notes from New York“, where she writes about bringing up kids and day-to-day life in NYC.

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