Having a birthday in the middle of the school holidays has its pros and cons. The pro is that for the last two years we've fobbed her off with a "but everyone is on holiday my dear. We'll have a family tea party, ok? Just as fun!".
Now she's nearly 5 she's caught wind of communication methods other than jungle-drums. "Why don't you email Aisha's mum? Mum, you should really text Alices parents, I know you have their number. Why don't you set up a twitter feed? Mum, there's this new forum attached to google where you can post tailored messages for exclusive parties for 5 year olds..."
I feel like the petulant teenager. WHATEVER.
The con to having a birthday in the holidays is that there are still a few people around and about who are very very very happy to have something to do on a Sunday afternoon in the middle of August.
Suddenly there are 12 children to entertain and feed.
And on top of this, I have returned from a week in Devon with some sort of bug. An Almost Being Sick Bug. My nieces both spent the last 5 days coughing up every sort of wondrous substance - at any time of day - maybe in the drive home from the beach (said wonders being caught in an upsidedown frisby - who'd have thought how useful they really can be?) or say, at 1030pm just as the last glass of Valpolicella has been sunk and the cheese board polished off - loving parents repair to the bedroom of their beloved for a goodnight kiss and tuck-up to find them caked in regurgitated pizza... etc. I could tell you more but we've done the sick-thing previously and you know what I'm on about.
I came home with a mild strain.
I've yet to revisit my wondrous lunch or breakfast, instead, my stomach is festering and boiling sordidly - like its plotting for my ruin at the most important part of the day... and can't decide yet at what point it'd be most inconvenient to empty myself. "Neeeheeheeheeee"(evil laughter from stomach), "what can I do to cause ruin and humiliation..?" (rubs hands together and laughs another burst of evil)
Tomorrow is Liz's party.
This morning I made THE cake - practically with a clothes peg on my nose, such was my disinterest in the production. I felt robotic as I wizzed the ingredients up, not enjoying the aromas of vanilla and sugar and all things nice as they bake in the oven. This evening I will transform the cake into a magnificent ... (don't want to ruin the surprise) - and hopefully the sardines dear Husband sensitively bought for our dinner won't make it as a garnish for the cake...
Liz and Mol are in a state of nearly high excitement about tomorrow.
I'm in a state of oh god how will we do it low excitement. I may have to go down to Green Lanes and score some crack to get me through it.
Actually as I write I already feel better. Maybe I just needed to vent anxiety at the computer - my therapist - and bit by bit the games the chocolate fingers the party poppers the balloons the screams of delight as Husband gets them in a tizz over Simon Says - will all fall neatly into place over night, and the Almost Being Sick Bug will get bored of trying to find the ultimate moment for its show and piss off to the noisy student house opposite us. That'd be a much better home for the Almost Being Sick Bug. Except I'm pretty sure that by the time it got to the student house it'd have transmogrified into virulent vomming and disastrous diarrhoea... That at least would shut them up in one sense of the word.
And with that. I embrace the party. I embrace the cake. I embrace the madness that will be shortlived for 2.5hours. Its very manageable.
I wonder where that local dealer has got to...?
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