Tea With Tildy

It is almost time for our guests to arrive to Tildy's birthday tea party. In my hands is a delicate blue and white doll-sized plate. It is old - given to me by my Grandma from family ancestors - and made of china. It is very breakable. It even feels thin and fragile in my hands. I take extra care washing and drying it before I carefully place it aside with the rest of the tea set.

It is my intention to place this set in the hands of Tildy and her three-year-old friends.

Next I look around for something to serve our "older" guests - the five-to-eight-year-old crowd that will be sitting at another table. I don't want to use the plastic or metal sets that Tildy typically plays with, and there aren't enough pieces for this anyway. So my eyes dart through our kitchen and land on our china cabinet.

Now I'm sure you have one of these also - a china cabinet filled with beautiful sentiment that is hardly ever to never used. Geoff and I have laughed about this, and vowed to someday use the "good china." But we have never dared.

And I still won't dare for this occasion - or will I? What about the silver tea set? Sure it is old and a family heirloom, but it's made of metal. I decide, though a tad tarnished, this is perfect for the occasion and begin washing.

Geoff walks in, and I give him the rundown of where I am at with things.

"So I plan to use the blue and white china for the three-year-old table, and the metal wedding tea set for the big kids."

"You're going to let the kids use our tea set?"

"Sure. It's made of metal. I don't think they can actually hurt it. And in my experience by the time one is old enough to use a breakable tea set, one is too old to want to use a tea set. So I thought I would actually use good dishes. The kids can be warned to be careful."

"Do you know how much value is lost if there is even one ding?"

Shoot. I forgot Geoff is a metalworker and might even have a preference on this matter.

"If you're talking about monetary value lost, it's irrelevant because I would never sell the tea set, so it has no value." I point to the delicate very breakable doll china. "I'm using my Grandma's set."

"Christa, I don't care if you use your family's set. That is yours. And if an item is replaceable, you can do what you want with it, but the silver tea set cannot be replaced. I enjoy admiring it in the cabinet. It is up to you to decide, but I strongly recommend that you leave our tea set out of the party."

Darn. I hate it when he does that - that manipulation by being a nice guy. But the silver tea set did come from Geoff's side of the family, and he does so rarely have an opinion on any household matter. I think through our guest list. Since all of the kids have been playing here since they were infants, they are perfectly at home and don't need to pretend to be shy or polite. And like any group of comfortable kids, they are prone to loudness and energy.

So I take Geoff's advice and begin digging around for another pitcher-like device for the older kids. But I am grumbling. Like should I put a plastic cover on the couch next? But I know I'm being somewhat ridiculous.

After the party, we are cleaning up. I am carrying in the last of the china tea set. Amazingly enough it is all totally intact.

"Well, you got lucky with that one," Geoff comments.

This rubs me the wrong way. Was it luck, or were we all especially sensitive and careful?

"We were careful."

"Oh, come on, Christa. I saw the table almost get completely knocked over."

"Geoff, I feel like every time I use a breakable dish, I am taking a risk. There are dishes I only use on very special occasions, just because I know that statistically in MY hands anything breakable has a very short life."

And this is true. I break most everything in our house. Last week alone I broke several glasses, and an irreplaceable crock pot lid. And until all the tea set pieces are washed and packed away securely into the basement, they are still at risk. After all, it is I who will be cleaning them.

But what are we teaching our kids about possessions through our action or lack of action? There seems to be a fine line between taking care of an item, and overemphasizing its value. Even if something cannot be replaced, the space can usually be filled with something else. Like that crock pot lid. I couldn't buy a new lid. So I bought a new crock pot. It's smaller. Turns out I like it better anyway.

So even if a dish had broken, I am glad my Grandma's china tea set was used. It is my daughter's third birthday party. What greater event than this would be worthy of unpacking the good stuff?