As I said in the last post, its my darling daughter’s birthday on Friday and her party Saturday. It seems we should be OK with attendees now as we have around 25 kids coming to dance, stuff their faces with food and generally have a good time (well, that’s the idea anyway).
With that in mind, I’m baking up a storm in the kitchen, trying to make sure everything is completely allergy OK for Littlest (after all, you don’t want to have to call 999 in the middle of a kids party).
I was doing just that for the last hour, aided and abetted by my MP3 player.
At which point, Mini, never shy of telling us what she thinks, caught me in the kitchen dancing to Taylor Swift. Which is only on my MP3 player for walks home with her in the first place. In my defence its a nice sunny day, all is good so I do tend to sing along to anything that happens to pop up on it when my hands are covered in biscuit batter and I can’t skip the song.
If looks could kill, readers, I would be pushing up daisies and my biscuits would be handed round as a teary eyed last hurrah at my wake.
Back in the day (when she was under 6), she would love coming in the kitchen and dancing and singing with me. Not anymore.
According to her strict law, if I dare dance, sing, or horror of horrors (as I did suggest it) twerk, she will never speak to me again, and her name, even worse, will be “mud” at school (I kid you not, her words, not mine).
She flounced out the kitchen and grabbed her iPod to no doubt diva strop up in her room.
Surely, fellow parents, the whole “my parents are so embarrassing” thing is not really meant to rear its ugly “yes you can pay for and organise my party at great cost but please fade into the background pronto” head until she turns 13? Not 8!
Nope, not in our house.
It was the same at the disco, which I stayed at as there were quite a few lovely Mums from school helping out and actually, for a school disco the DJ played some top tunes at the Junior part.
I got death stares, all night. Despite one of the year 6 girls telling her “your Mum can really dance, how cool”, I think Mini would have much preferred me to bugger off home and stay there in my slippers.
I’m only 33. I don’t even feel like I’m in my 30s (I actually have good excuse for that as I’m constantly asked if I am travelling with a student bus pass). So frankly, I don’t consider myself in the OAP, embarrassing parent bracket quite yet.
I think I shall just hide at the party and dance in the corner. Behind a curtain. Quietly.
How about you guys? Do you get told you’re embarrassing? How old is your child?
🙂 Enjoy the sunshine 🙂