Can you believe it, Mini is 8 next Friday. Eight! Where did the time go?
(Although, to be fair, sometimes she acts far older than 8. I have to remind myself that she is so young still).
Thus, after much
moaning by Mini discussion by us parents, we decided to have our first party for a birthday since her 5th one.
Its taken three
|At the last party. No those aren’t very big 5 year olds at the front.|
years to get over that one. The mess, the screaming masses of kids running around and the cost- blimey the cost alone could have paid for a small weekend mini break away from the Brats. Which was frankly what we would have liked to have done directly after said party but no such luck.
However, being that she’s still relatively new, we thought that to aid her in the fitting in process we’d throw a kick ass disco and up her cool points. Or at least give me an excuse to go baking mad in the kitchen for the first week of the Easter holidays.
Invites went out at the end of last week, and I did expect a few yays and a few nays quite swiftly as I put my email and mobile number on them and a request for a response. After all, an email costs nothing, and, as with the old school, when we swapped numbers we’d immediately add said Mum or Dad to Whatsapp.
No such luck. We did get a few no answers as some folk (it would appear half of Earley) go away to far flung haunts the minute anyone cracks out the Easter Decorations. We have had a couple of yes votes, mainly though from Littlest’s little contingent of friends we’ve allowed him to invite so he doesn’t get too pissed off by the no doubt questionable music that Mini has personally chosen.
So now I’m kind of twiddling my thumbs, not quite knowing how many party bags we need, or how much food. I was going to collar some of the yet to answer lot yesterday but, alas, both the pair of them had succumbed to plague like symptoms so were confined to the sofa.
In desperation, I even group emailed all the rest of the Brownies that she had not had enough invites for to at least up the numbers. Responses thus far? Two. One yes, one no.
It makes me remember that organising a party pre kids was so much more easy and fun.
Before kids, you needed some crisps, perhaps some chicken nibbles from a very cheap box from Iceland, at the most a bit of a pasta salad.
Now, you have cupcakes with obligatory cupcake toppers. Ours are sadly and unforeseeably out of date now being that they feature the original line up of One Direction before Zayn buggered off to go in a, erm, another direction shall we say. If it wasn’t bad enough that him leaving made Mini bawl her eyes out (he was her fave that week), they cost me a bloody fiver for 10.
Then you have to make sure as not to offend anyone with certain food groups they don’t eat, or poison those with a genuine allergy, like Littlest.
Back in the heady no kids days, the main ingredient of a party, a barbecue or just a Saturday night was a good amount of alcoholic beverages. No one cared what type, if it said Vodka, Lager or Wine, so long as it didn’t feature Tesco Value stripes, it was all good.
Now its sugar free, organic, no fizzy, no added shite stuff. Preferably with bits of fruit in it. When I was a kid, no one cared how radioactive it looked, but now they do and folk prefer their kids to keep their teeth intact for as long as possible.
Then there is music. Pre-kids tunes were tunes, the bassier and throbbing the better. Turn it up loud, turn off the lights, Bobs ya Uncle. Party.
Now I have to spend 5 hours going through every single rubbish song that my daughter has liked since age 6. Swearing in music and sexual references are a complete no no. Which you’d think would mean spinning a Pop Party album as they’re meant for kids.
It was a good job I checked owing to the amount of use of the words “sex”, “fuck” and “shit” amongst others and variations of those that were peppered on these albums. Sesame Street words of the day these were not. One record started with the rallying cry of “Fuck you Muthafucka” shouted at top volume. Lovely.
No one wants to be that Mum who allowed the offspring of other Mums to come home swearing like a docker after their do. So even though the music is enough to bring me (and Littlest) out in a rash, it wont lead to children learning new vocab.
Then we have the hall hire, the disco hire (although we do luckily know a very nice mobile DJ so we do cheat a little on that one) the outfits and the party bags.
The bloody party bags. We didn’t have those bastards at parties before Brats. Can you imagine leaving a party as a young, child free adult and being given a party bag (or tat bag as I like to call them).
No such luck with this day and age.
Its not difficult to find stuff to shove in the buggers, in fact God bless Amazon and Job Lots on eBay for saving me cash. Its the stuffing the buggers afterwards. Its a military operation of checking for anything sharp, anything inappropriate, and do you put sweets in or not? If so, how many and what do you do about allergies and religious food no nos?
See, its a mental minefield.
I can already feel new wrinkles and grey hairs sprouting with every day that passes before this sodding party. And its not even here yet.
I’m off to make 50 soft baps, and find more music.
I’ll let you know how it all goes down…..