Illustration by Karly Anderson
We don’t have the best luck with parties in our family. For our daughter Kat’s second birthday in 2019, we splurged and booked a party at Romp n’ Roll. We ordered a “Star Wars”-themed cake, sent personalized invitations and prepared to party it up with her toddler friends. That morning, Kat woke up looking woozy and proceeded to empty the contents of her stomach onto the living room rug.
We canceled the party and tried not to think about the few hundred dollars we had just lost. In the chaos we also forgot to inform my husband’s grandmother in Pennsylvania, who was already well on her way to Richmond by the time we texted her to tell her the party was canceled. Oops.
Then last fall, our baby sprinkle for Kat’s unborn little sister also had to be called off at the last minute due to sickness. Again, we rushed to inform folks and promised to try to reschedule (we never did). And again, we forgot to inform an out-of-town guest, who called us from the parking lot of the venue: “Um … are we at the wrong place?”
So, 2020 rolls around, and I was determined to throw the party of a lifetime for Kat. I wanted her to be able to play with her friends, and as a parent, I wanted the chance to mingle with some other adults. Although her birthday is in the summer, I had been brainstorming fun party ideas all winter.
And then the pandemic hit. We hemmed and hawed as her August birthday inched closer: “Should we do an outdoor party? Nah, it’s disgustingly hot and humid. Could we just have family over? No, I really don’t feel comfortable with that either.”
We settled on a virtual Zoom birthday party. My Type-A self planned every detail, complete with a timeline:
- 4:50 p.m.: Start Zoom call.
- 5 p.m.: Greet everyone.
- 5:05 p.m.: Ask Kat some funny questions I found on Pinterest and record her responses.
- 5:10 p.m.: Start opening gifts, being sure to thank each person while simultaneously writing down who gave what so we can send thank-you cards.
- 5:30 p.m.: Light a candle on her Darth Vader cake, belt out “Happy Birthday” and then tell people they’re free to go because it’s a little strange to just sit there and watch a toddler shove black cake into her mouth. Note to self: Ask for a Stormtrooper cake next year so that black icing doesn’t stain your child’s face and teeth.
If we were going to have a Zoom birthday party, then gosh darn it, it was going to be the smoothest, most fun, most organized Zoom party 2020 had ever seen. But you know what they say about the best-laid plans.
The day of the party rolls around, and I am prepared. The cake is defrosted. The gifts are lined up. The laptop is fired up and ready to go. I start the Zoom call and wait.
Guests log on. “Hi, everyone! Nice to see you!” I am bubbly — annoyingly so. The people on the screen wave back to me and Kat. Maybe they don’t know they can unmute and talk to us? Weird, but we’ll move on, and they’ll get more comfortable as the party progresses.
“OK, Kat, I have some questions for you. What’s your favorite color? Animal? Who’s your best friend?” I drill my toddler with my Pinterest-inspired questions, writing her answers on a whiteboard so our guests can see what she is saying. I make sure to plaster a dazzling smile on my face and make eye contact with our guests frequently, gesturing for Kat to do the same.
There is still radio silence on the other end. It’s the quietest birthday party I’ve ever been to, and I’m starting to feel awkward and a little bit frustrated. Why is no one talking? Laughing? Reacting to my adorable birthday girl?
Moving on; gotta stay on schedule. Don’t want to cut into people’s dinner time, I think as I light the candle. “OK, everyone, feel free to unmute yourselves and sing along! Happy birthday to you …”
Still nothing. No singing. I was, frankly, a little more than annoyed at this point.
“Um, babe?” my husband says cautiously. “People are texting you.”
Irritated, I snatch my phone.
“Hey, we can’t hear you,” one message reads.
“I think you need to unmute us? I just tried to unmute myself and couldn’t! Cute cake, though,” another says.
A flush of embarrassment creeps onto my face. Of course. Of course I had forgotten to adjust the settings on Zoom. Of course I hadn’t even thought to slow down for a second and ask my guests why I couldn’t hear them. And, of course, in true 2020 fashion, we had a failed Zoom birthday party.
Better luck next year, Kat.
Christine Suders is a high school English teacher, writer and volleyball coach. She’s married to her high school sweetheart and is the mom of a tenacious toddler and an infant.
