Friday night we were invited to Jeff and Leah’s street party. I’d never actually been to a street party. The road was closed to traffic. Everyone pulled out their barbeques, tables and chairs and a prepped a whack of food. There was music, a basketball net, games for the little ones and a raffle. We stood around, talked, ate and drank beer. It was all pretty sweet.
Early on Emma was told about the annual Jello fight. She was keen participant at the get-go. This kid was not going to leave without having been in a Jello fight. She begged, pleaded, cajoled and charmed, but mostly just begged with hands clasped in front of her chin: Plllllllllllllllllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese can I be in the Jello fight? She made it seem as if her life depended on it.
We caved. Even though it was well past the girls bedtime we decided to stay. As it turned out afterwards, she had no idea what a Jello fight was. I think she only heard the word JELLO and went with that.
The residents of the street had collectively made enough Jello to drown a horse. There were multiple trays of the stuff: big bowls and little ones, plastic yogurt containers and Tupperware. It was a rainbow of gelatin. As I took shelter near a tree I wondered how this was all going to unfold.
The kids were lined up, facing each other, about 12 per side. The Jello was in the middle. The rules were explained. The first rule about Jello fight is that you don’t talk about Jello fight. That rule notwithstanding, it was explained that the throwing of the Jello was to happen up and down the length of the street, not side to side (where the audience was standing). And there was to be no violent throwing of the Jello. On the count of five, everyone was to run toward the Jello. Emma and Sarah, as they were among the youngest, were told they could get a head start. Emma made it to the bowls first. She grabbed a handful, turned to look at us and said: what do I do with it?
THROW IT AT SOMEONE! QUICK!
Afterwards she explained that she thought this whole thing was about Jello THROWING, throwing it on the road but not actually AT someone. (Because as we know THROWING is BAD and shouldn’t be done. Ever.)
But by this time the other children had descended. It was gelatinous chaos. It was flying everywhere. Kids were pelting each other left and right. And where was our little Sarah? Where else, but grabbing fistfuls of Jello and eating it. I could practically hear her thinking: Why are these people throwing it around when they could be gorging themselves? In fact, I even saw her pick some out of her hair and eat it.
That’s my girl!
At the end of it however, Emma was in tears. Not because she was hit in the face, or because she was the recipient of an unlawful dumping of Jello directly from the bowl (picking up the bowl was expressly verboten) but because she was sticky.
What did you expect would happen, we asked.
She was unsure. She thought she’d receive a cloak made out of a garbage bag, which she had heard was the case the previous year. We explained that she had the opportunity to back out before it started, or even at the beginning when things were starting to get a little sticky.
But I think she was having so much fun that she forgot how icky it is to be sticky. Lesson learned.
When the Jello was all gone, smeared across the road and over every arm and leg and wedged in every nook of every body and face, the other kids proceeded to have a water balloon fight.
We washed our girls hands and tried to pick as much Jello out of their hair as we possibly could. It was a good night.
