Girly-girl Goes Wild at 10

Friday, January 27, 2006

Page 11

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

Girly-girl Goes Wild at 10

By J’AMY PACHECO

In just a few days, my daughter will turn 10. As if having my only child turn the big one-zero isn’t hard enough to deal with on its own, she’s thrown a monkey wrench into the well-oiled machinery of my peace of mind machine.

My daughter is pretty much what you’d call a girly-girl. Half of her clothing is pink, and what isn’t probably has ruffles, ribbons or something sparkly on it. Her room is done in princessy stuff, from her Tinker Bell lamp to her Little Mermaid bathroom. Her choice in books and video games runs true to her nature, and usually involve feminine heroes doing girly-girl things.

So it came as something of a surprise to me when she chose the theme for this year’s birthday party: Indiana Jones.

Indiana Jones, you probably know, is a fictional archeologist of feature film fame who travels the world seeking to secure ancient artifacts for his museum. Because that’s where they belong, he frequently says.

His travels take him to regions populated by poison dart-wielding natives, evil mysterious guys with big swords and Nazis.

If this were a party for adults, it might be kind of fun. It certainly would be interesting to plan. But this is a party for 10-year-olds, most of whom have likely never seen the heart ripped from the chest of the guy who had a minor – but memorable — role in “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.”

In a perfect world, I’d be hanging pink crepe paper and balloons from my ceilings and ordering a Disney Princess or Barbie cake. I’d even settle for trying to figure out how to roast a pig for a birthday luau.

But, noooo.

Instead, I’m trying to figure out how to cover the ceiling of my family room with decayed-looking vines and how to mount a giant (fake) rolling boulder at the top of my stairs. I’m trying to determine the best way for utilizing the ever-present snakes and rats without scaring the wits out of the expected toddler guests, and their mommies.

I’m also trying to figure out what to do about a cake. I bought an Indiana Jones action figure play set — complete with golden idol — to use as a cake topper, but I need a jungle in which to place it. I’m having trouble working up the courage to ask a bakery clerk if it’s possible to recreate the Temple of Doom in frosting.

My daughter doesn’t do things halfway, either. She is begging me to sew a tiny reproduction of the costume female cast members wear when they operate the Indiana Jones attraction at Disneyland. It’s not that I mind the challenge – it’s wondering if it’s worth the trouble for a one day, three-hour party.

I did spring for the $35 Indiana Jones hat at Disneyland, which really brings out brown in her girly-girl eyes. Of course, she wants the $45 whip, too, but that ain’t gonna happen. Money aside, I just don’t think kids, whips and sugar are a good combination.

I’m agonizing over what games to play, too. It’s not like I can entertain the kids by showing any of the three Indiana Jones movies, in which good always triumphs – but not before somebody’s flesh melts off their bones.

I thought I might set out a bunch of mismatched cups and advise the children to choose one, wisely, as Indiana had to do when he located the Holy Grail. I thought I’d put a sticker on the bottom of one and give the winner a little prize — unless, of course, I can figure out how to grant eternal life. Either way, it seems a better idea than having the losers’ heads explode.

That’s probably good for at least two minutes.

Of course, I won’t need any games if I don’t figure out how to invite the guests. There is, unfortunately, no such thing as an off-the-shelf invitation for an Indiana Jones party.

A friend suggested I recreate the small, leather bound journal to which Indiana frequently referred in his Last Crusade and mail one to each invited guest.

No problem there — I’d just need to duplicate sketches of ancient artifacts and religious symbols, throw in a few hand-written notes of observation made over decades of fictional study — and figure out where to stick in the time-and-place party details.

It’s a challenge. But hey, if Indiana can save the world from the Nazis, I guess I can pull off this party.

It’s bound to be easier than mothering a 10-year-old girly-girl.