Yes, chaos at children’s parties is perfectly fine

A picture of Aunt Fiffi appears in Kalena’s family chat whenever a children’s party needs organizing. The image shows Alfons Åberg’s determined party planner with an apron, a satisfied smile and a long checklist. Kalena’s husband sends it as a pointed reminder of her own enthusiasm for ambitious celebrations.

She understands the joke. During the summer, when her daughter returned from the United States and wanted to celebrate graduating from high school, the preparations included 200 chocolate balls, homemade hamburgers and fries, pesto rolls, flatbread with liver pâté, smoked-salmon spread, 60 pear cakes and 60 white-chocolate panna cottas.

Still, Kalena takes Fiffi’s side. Years earlier, she and her family held a Mexican-themed party for a new preschool class. They made a piñata from strips of paper and built candy cacti from cucumbers, jelly sweets and chocolate. About 30 six-year-olds brought plenty of noise and disorder, and the neighbors may not have recovered from the volume.

But the children had fun, and one boy attended his first party invitation ever. Kalena says that celebration was worth more than everything she had accomplished in her working life. As another home party approaches for her son’s new class, involving a scavenger hunt, she suggests making guacamole. Her husband responds by sending the picture of Aunt Fiffi once again. The essay’s defense is simple: when a family has the space and resources to manage the mess, chaos can be a fair price for including everyone.