The Goody Bag Bandwagon

I just got back from picking Monkey and Mini up from preschool, where they had their Valentine's Day parties. Each child was asked to bring a Valentine's card to exchange with his/her classmates while someone's mother brought in cupcakes. Simple, right?

Wrong.

I want to know which of you 'hos took preschool class parties and turned them into a "Let's See Who Is the Laziest Parent" contest, because--for the record--I just won. While you were all coming up with your homemade candies and goody bags and cards with a picture of your child in an adorable crown with a stenciled message to my child with a custom-made lollipop, I ran out at 6:45 this morning and picked the ONLY Valentine's cards I could find (and they were 50% off!). They had SpongeBob on them. I DON'T EVEN LET MY KIDS WATCH SPONGEBOB!!!

Fast forward to this afternoon.

While Monkey played MarioKart and Mini napped, I ate Mini's Valentine's Princess Fun Dip and patted myself on the back thinking that little Missy's personalized Valentine's Day card is going to end up in the same place as Mini's SpongeBob card (assuming we all recycle here) and, as my blood sugar crashed, I realized this problem is far larger than I imagined...

Case In Point: The Birthday Party Goody Bag

Who came up with this (this is a rhetorical question; if you admit to it, I may hurt you)? Let's examine this situation closely: I (and when I say "I" I mean "we" because Man is reading over my shoulder demanding equal credit for party planning) just rented out a room/park/bowling lane/hockey rink, jacked your child up on enough sugar and caffeine to fuel a mid-sized town, introduced your kid to his favorite mouse/superhero/hip-hop star AND I'M GIVING HIM A PRESENT FOR IT?!

Really?

What happened to the days of going to someone's house, giving them a $5 gift that will break or have half the pieces missing in 27.5 minutes, running through the sprinkler a few times, eating a cake that the lower half of a Barbie got jammed into and leaving empty handed?

Here's a tip--and I'm speaking to myself as well because I have jumped on the Goody Bag Bandwagon (I should not be allowed to plan a party when I'm on Post-Surgery Percocet): THOSE GOODY BAGS CONTAIN NOTHING THIS MOTHER WANTS! There is no amount of money you would be willing to spend that will make me happy to see that plastic CARS bag in my son's hand...unless, of course, you invested in airplane-sized bottles of vodka and contributed to the delinquency of a minor for the sake of helping me deal with the aftermath of his sugar-high. Which I doubt.

So, stop wasting your time and my sanity, because I'm hanging on by a thread here.

And, while we're at it, can we PLEASE go back to the crappy V-day cards that say "To: Missy, From: Monkey. I choo-choo-choose you" and be done with it?