Oh dear - another year!

Just when did birthday parties become so complicated?  I remember (ahh, the good old days) when all you had to do to satisfy the kids was plonk a few chippies in plastic bowls, throw heaps of sweeties around and you were all set to go.  Now, bigger is definitely better, especially when it is bigger.  No more pass the parcel here, thank-you very much.  It has to be a jumbo-size jumping castle or your kids aren't in with a fighting chance.

In our wisdom, the Sweetpea and I decided that combining the three birthday parties into one this year would be a Good Idea.  We have had these Good Ideas in the past.  Notably amongst them was the time I decided that it would be great to tile the bathroom three days before our wedding (I subsequently got stuck in the shower and had to boost my way out over the wall by standing on the soap dish).  So one would think that something would have tipped us off by now that a Good Idea is sometimes just a Bad Idea with a positive attitude. Anyhoo...

Because we have two boys and a little girl, I thought it would be unfair, in spite of the combined party, to have only one boyish birthday cake.  So we had to have two birthday cakes.  After all, a Captain Mac rocket did not seem to be fitting for the Little Miss Snoopy.  So it was back to the drawing board for cake number two.  We decided on the traditional dollie stuck in an ice-cream dress, so that we could serve it with the jellies that I had made (blueberry and lemonade jelly in plastic champagne glasses with a jelly worm swimming in them).  Although there was much heated discussion, amazingly (unlike other years past, where our efforts have almost come to blows), neither the Sweetpea nor I threatened a divorce over the construction of the cakes.

To make the party easier (we had invited 15 kids, and then of course the parents too), we held it at the local swimming pool.  After all, I have white carpets in my house and I did not want to know what would happen if 15 kids were allowed to run around on them carrying their pieces of bright blue rocket cake.  As an experiment, it just did not seem to make much sense.
So we packed off to the pool, bearing all sorts of inflatables for the kids to play with, and all the goodies loaded into huge plastic hampers.

All the adults were encouraged to swim with their kids (I even broke out the old, and by now quite saggy, swimming costume, even though the hairs on my legs were long enough to french plait).  It was a blast.  Everyone had great fun in the pool (wish I had remembered not to wear mascara in an attempt to look decent) and before we knew it, it was time for tea.

And despite all the rigorous planning and huge effort, the ironic part of the whole party was that the kids enjoyed it the most when we blew up balloons for them and then let them go squealing and zooming off around the room (both balloons and kids).  Would they have had more fun with pony rides, professional face-painting and a full theme park?  I like to believe they wouldn't.

Let them eat cake!

When you teach your children manners, you never have an inkling that it might backfire on you at some stage.  What parent doesn't want little angels who always greet adults with respect, say please and thank-you for everything (even things they don't like), and who know how to conduct themselves at the table?  And yet...

We were at the party of a child who has been friends with ours since before she was born - literally.  Her mom used to come over and see the boys when the little girl was still in the womb, and they would always pat the preggy tummy and ask why it was fat.  Anyway, the baby is turning two in a few days time (how on earth did that happen - she was only born, like, yesterday or something?), and my tribe were invited to the party.  It was a really lovely party, mostly for the adults, I must say (but then what party for a two-year-old is actually for the kid?), and was very elegantly catered.  People stood around in clusters with fancy snacks like strawberry coulis filo pastries and pesto and brie croissants (I can only ever rustle up a quiche and even then you'd be lucky) while the little ones ran off outside to play.    

My lot decided that they could not wait to go to the loo, and so we made our trek to the toilet.  Getting three kids on and off the loo before someone has an accident is no mean feat.  And then of course each one has to flush the toilet after each go, and there are four pairs of hands to wash (counting mine too, hopefully).  The whole process can take upwards of fifteen minutes.  Anyway, when we got back to the venue,  it turned out the we had missed the whole "Happy Birthday" cake cutting tradition, and walked into the room in that awkward silence that always seems to follow a public karaoke rendition of Happy Birthday to You sung off-key.  All the kids were stuck into the cake, their faces and hands covered with the sticky icing.  My lot were offered a plate of delicious pink and green birthday cake each.  

And that is when their hard-won manners let me down.  In a piercing, disdainful voice, the one exclaimed "I can't eat that!"  There was a collective intake of breath as all the adults in the room fell silent and listened intently to what was going to happen next.  

"Why not, love?" I asked nervously.

"I can't eat cake without a cake fork," he explained in horror.