When it’s birthday party time…
SO. One thing that crossed my mind when I left my job is that I can at least organise a birthday bash for The Beast. HOW exciting. He’s big enough to understand birthdays now – well to a fashion, it’s been his birthday for the last week, and it’s been daddy’s birthday every day since Sunday (when it was actually Daddy’s birthday!).
Therefore this week was mission birthday party. I MAY have put a teeensyweeenssyy bit of pressure on myself. Just a tad. This birthday we haven’t just invited friends and family, we’ve gone that one step further and invited friends from “school”. I asked Nursery to provide me with a list of Theo’s top 5 friends and from that I sent out invitations. All the mummies appear lovely, however I have this little bit that I NEED TO BE THE BEST. Especially as I look a bit wobbly and slummy since I’ve been back at home.
We’re having a picnic at the local park “near the swings”, it’s very exciting, all the kids are excited and the parents seem up for it. Although I’m slightly worried about one thing. This year is a year when I can’t oversee the gifts. Usually without fail, the outlaws cause me pain. They go off and use their “initiative” and buy gifts that go against what I want in my house. Last year, when I was highly strung, hormonal and pregnant, they thought it was a good idea to buy some “surprises” . One of those surprises happened to be a Xylophone. I’ve specifically said all along that I don’t want musical instruments in the house – not being mean (much) but he plays with them at nursery and I like him to have different toys (that wont result in me getting violent). This fell into the same selective hearing option that most things I say to Theo and Matt go. The xylophone hasn’t been used as a musical instrument since the day they demonstrated it to the boy, it was used as a skate board, and often as a “booby trap” by this I mean he would skate and then get bored, leave it behind me for me to trip over. In fat pregnant rage about a month after his birthday I stood on the “skateboard” and skidded across the kitchen catching my arm on the breakfast bar, that was the end of that, I picked it up, and stuffed it with perhaps more force then necessary under the sofa in the day room (I think I may have then spent about 5 minutes swearing as I tried to stand up again), it remained there until February this year when Matt and his Mum found it when they were wallpapering. Oops.
ANYWAY, I digress (sorry Ju – I was a bit pregnant, BUT IT WASN’T ON THE LIST!!), so I’m scared about what we will get this year. The parents have all actually asked, but in trying to be “breezy” I want them to think I take everything in my stride, so I’ve chosen the “oohhh no, just don’t go to any trouble!” approach. This is causing me sleepless nights – I will update you.
The party bags have been packed, the picnic has been planned the most AMAZING Buzz Lightyear balloon has been purchased (it cost a fortune but Matt things it cost £2.50) and I had the cake all planned. Every year I make the cake, and every year I fail. This year was going to be DIFFERENT.
I’m typing this as I sit in our kitchen/dayroom, netbook at the dining table, and I’m surrounded by multiple colours of ready to roll icing. I went to a special shop (recommended by twitter) to get the perfect purple, greens and blues. I baked the perfect cake (and it does taste good), and I designed everything. Things went wrong with the actual decoration, I took a photo (I wont be showing you) called my mum at home and had a flap then called Matt at work. No amount of reassurance has calmed me down. It looked SHIT. I mean. There’s shit, and then there’s “oh did you let Theo decorate it himself what a clever idea!” shit. I may have not helped matters by in a tantrum when another bit of icing fell apart I pulled all the icing off and make the cake fell apart.
So now I’m on panic stations. Do I go to Sainsbogs and buy a cake and have a go at faffing it around so I can pretend it’s mine? Do I bake well into the night and end up with something I will inevitably not be happy with? Who knows. Oh – and I wont be telling you as when you see photos of the party I want you to think it’s my art work and I was over exaggerating 😉