Enough with stale Tootsie Rolls and broken bird whistles.
Enough with half-opened Hershey's Kisses and misshapen Slinkys.
Enough with erasers that crumble and rubber ducks that emit fumes.
Enough with the plastic.
Enough with the small.
Enough with the cheap.
Enough with the crap.
Sometimes nothing is better than something.
So goodbye, goody bags.
I'm over you.
And I want to know: who's with me?
I know my friend, writer Nina Badzin, is with me. Or I'm with her. She wrote about party favors last year in Brain, Child Magazine: "Why in the name of all that's sensible are we parents perpetuating this worthless tradition of handing out junk at the end of a party?"
We no longer smoke on airplanes or perm our hair or let people drive with open Budweisers. So why in the world are we still giving out bags filled with sh*t to thank kids for coming to our children's birthday parties?
Thank them for coming? Because why?
Because decades ago some overachiever decided that throwing a party, serving cake and entertaining a horde of loud, sticky children wasn't enough?
No! The party is more than enough! I'm putting my foot down. (And then I'm picking my foot back up. And then I'm putting it back down again. I'm actually stomping my foot because I feel really strongly about this.)
Unless there's a need to rid the world of all its old Jolly Ranchers, there is no possible explanation for why we're still giving out goody bags.
Enough with the stuff.
Let's cut the crap.
So goodbye, goody bags.
I don't want to get them.
And I don't want to give them.
A few years ago, at the end of a birthday party that I had thrown for my son, a little boy came to find me. His mom watched. I thought he was going to thank me.
He was asking for his party favor.
He was demanding it, actually.
He held out his hand.
Part of me wanted to reprimand him. Part of me wanted to high-five him. I did neither.
But looking back on it, since I hate goody bags so incredibly much, I know exactly what I should have done.
I should have given him two.
(This post ran originally ran on Mammalingo.)
Ok, so sometimes it's hard for babies to bomb photos by themselves.
That baby is just begging for attention.
"I had to watch this whole boring marathon."
The eyes say it all.
If you are going to photobomb, you should cheese adorably.
The baby is her stand-in model.
That's a pretty big (fake) gun for a baby.
"Let's go swimming! Stop taking pictures!"
This has to be one of the first.
Ruining perfectly good cleavage pics is just one of the many services he offers.
The best way to improve boring, old lectures, hands down.
Can you photobomb yourself? Contemplate this and get back to us.
"Mom, are you taking pictures of your butt again?"
Making birthday dinners at the Cheesecake Factory weird since 2009.
"Mom, that site doesn't even exist anymore."
We're just going to assume this turned out fine.
He just wanted that shoe.
Look behind her shoulder.
They're trying to be cute, but he's cuter.
You might be focused on the TV bomb, but the little baby in the back takes the cake.
"Hey, no fair!"
This baby is living life to the fullest.
Without the baby, this is a pretty boring picture.
Follow Melissa Sher on Twitter: www.twitter.com/thismelissasher