KIDDIE PARTY!

Chuck E. Cheese's Greeter: "Oh. You all don't have any kids with you. Come on in. You're alright."

Seems to me that anyone showing up kid-less at the Kid Capital of Kiddiedom would have to produce some ID, but they know exactly who you are. You're THE RELATIVES. All you have to do is give the secret code: The name of the ecstatic little kid currently on a sugar high, who you've come to celebrate.

You walk through Chuck E.'s domain like a mouse in a maze. 

You hope you're at the right one, because God knows you had to talk yourself into coming. If you didn't truly love the kid of the hour with all your heart, you'd be anywhere other than the surround sound experiment that is Chuck E.'s. 

You try to recognize your people, but everyone just blends into one big ol' extravaganza, so you really could just sit anywhere--except the floor. You'd be trampled for sure...tiny little footprints all over your face.  

Kids screaming, running, laughing; cheesy hands and chocolate covered mouths and faces, and smiles on top of great big smiles are everywhere. Bells dinging, whistles blowing, music playing, little voices singing, lights flashing...WHEW! It's a sensory overloading experience for you, and heaven for the kids. 

You realize you are officially old. Chuck E. will do that for you. 

You look around, and there are parents sitting in catatonic states, hoping that some other responsible adult will keep an eye on their kid, and not let them exit the front door. Other parents are directing traffic and singing choruses of "Lord, have mercy" and "Wait. I'll do it!" They're eating celery (because that's the only thing on the table that the kids don't eat), and conversing about the mess they saved themselves from having to deal with at home. 

Kids are roaming freely, happily befriending other kids without even the slightest hint of prejudice, sporting their snazzy rubber crowns, and browsing other tables, because of course, it's their party and everyone is there for them, right? So what if some strange little kid walks up to your table and asks for a slice of pizza, or just helps him or herself to a couple of chicken nuggets and an ice cream cup? 

It's THEIR party. You are merely a guest. You're too big to be in there anyway. Just leave your gift, take a few photos with your phone, go sit in one of those corners designated for senior citizens, and try to stay out of the way. 

The kids do say, "Excuse me!" as they run, but they're running. Non-stop. They know they're on a clock.

By far, the funniest sight of all were the little goggle-wearing, plastic bag-toting kids getting in to the ticket-blowing-machine-blaster-capsule-thingy, and just standing there marveling at, and delighted by the thousands of tickets swirling around their little heads, as their frantic parents stood on the outside waving and yelling, "Don't just stand there, Honey! Grab the tickets! Grab the tickets!" 

God Bless Parents. Chuck E. KNOWS he knows how to throw a party. Lawd! 

That Blue Bunny chocolate ice cream wasn't bad, either.

When your time is up, Chuck E.'s staff goes into clean-up mode with all the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy store. I have never seen people clean up with such happiness and vigor. 

You, and your birthday kid (who may have wanted to get into the ticket-blowing-machine-blaster-capsule-thingy more than his, or her fair share of times) are leaving. 

They give you all the bags and boxes you will ever need to pack up your left-over pizza and cake and admonish you to get out. They do it graciously and politely, but when you see the spray bottles come out, you know it's time to go.

God Bless the angels that are the Chuck E. Cheese workers. 

One has to really want to work there. One has to really, really like, and understand little kids. One has to have Job's patience (and a couple of other people's, too).

You have to be physically and mentally fit for Chuck E. Cheese. 

It's not for the frazzled. Nervous Nellies need not enter. 

When you see little kids successfully scale Chuck E.'s theater platform, then look around to see if their parents are watching as they attempt to climb in and stand along side mechanical Chuck E. as he lip synchs, you have to look away. 

If you ran or flinched every time it looked like some kid was going to hurt him or herself, you'd be running and flinching all day. 

While you're there, you'd better be prepared to sing along, and you will know the lyrics to at least one new, repetitive song by the time the party is over. My personal favorite of the day: 

"Going on a picnic, leaving right away. 

If it doesn't rain we'll stay all day. 

Did you bring the sandwiches? 

Yes, I brought the sandwiches!..."

It's so ironic that it rained today.

Fortunately, Pier One was close by as we left Chuck E.'s. 

We strolled around slowly and examined every pillow, candle, vase, mug and chair as our blood pressure and heart rates stabilized. 

Once in the car, I don't think I've ever so greatly appreciated the calming voices that are so characteristic of National Public Radio.
 
There's a lot of joy in seeing a happy little kid. It just warms your heart; makes you remember your own childhood. I have to hand to all of the parents who thought to treat their little ones today--even if what delights them makes all of the adults in the room suddenly stare off into space while muttering prayers and twirling their hair around their fingers.
Whomever invented this fun-packed place is a genius. These days, frankly, it's nice to see kids being kids.

Until next year, Chuck E., because no matter how many times you hear, "I'm not doing this any more", you know exactly where the kiddie party is going to be until the kiddies in your life grow too big for the seats. You're going. Of course you are. You'd better be there, because your darling little relative expects to see your smiling face, and you'd do anything to see them smile now, won't you?