It's been a while since I blogged. The boys and I returned from a few days away to chaotic party planning for Babe's sixth birthday and I'm pleased to say that the day was a wonderful success. Very pleased, in fact, because I was stressed about it. I am stressed about everything at the moment really - those knots in the stomach make themselves at home all too quickly and my intentions to deal with them have not come to much.
I will probably have become an expert on kids' parties around the time I don't need to host them any more. I am definitely learning from my mistakes. Like most parents, I get hung up on wanting the boys' birthdays to be wonderful, 18 or so-hour-long experiences they will remember for ever, which creates one heck of a pressure. Just getting the time and day of the party is a headache. Do you go for the morning, so that they have something to get stuck into straight away? Or do you go for the afternoon and then spend the morning trying to be fun and engaging when you need to be making sandwiches? Do you celebrate on the day of the birthday, or wait for the weekend when both of you are around? (Babe's birthday always falls in October half-term, like mine.)
I asked his dad what he thought. He said to go ahead and have the party on Babe's birthday. So I went ahead and planned for that. The night before OH then expressed surprise that I wasn't doing it on the Saturday so that he could be there. Stressed as I was - just working out the logistics of getting everything we needed to the hall, on foot and in the rain with two boys was having me breaking out in a cold sweat - I could have burst into tears. He said he'd got the days of the week muddled up. I suspect that, as usual, he hadn't really been listening to a word I was saying when I asked him about it. (If I repeat myself then I am 'bombarding', so working out how to communicate effectively is something of a challenge. I may try writing on the walls, or putting up a whiteboard on the wall opposite the toilet. Where there is, incidentally, a photo of a statue of a meditating Buddha, which is as far as I've got towards bringing some calm back into my life. I'm not sure if it's appropriate to defecate and attempt to meditate at the same time but you've got to start somewhere...) I had presumed that OH was glad of an excuse not to get embroiled in the party thing. But should have checked. As he might have. But anyway. I was really, really sorry he wasn't there to enjoy it and to help.
Babe was such a little angel I can't believe it. Before we left for the hall with heaps of stuff, we had a 'glue in the team' pep talk, and he couldn't have done more to help if he'd tried. What a star. Babe2, on the other hand, shouted and grizzled most of the day and was extremely tiresome. And all the harder to discipline given that he was looking very cute in a miniature Darth Vader outfit.
Anyway, my learnings from previous years and consequent solutions are as follows:
1 Decorations are a waste of time because kids don't really notice them so don't bother.
2 Helium bottles cannot be relied on to have any helium in them because ASDA warehouse staff use them for entertainment in their lunch breaks and the disappointment of getting an empty one is huge. Don't bother.
3 Add some yellow food colouring to tap water and serve up in any old jug as 'space water': this is a whole lot more exciting than cartons of value apple juice.
4 Kids are generally spoilt and ungrateful. At last year's party I resorted to telling the five-year-olds who were rummaging through the prize bag and shoving the things they didn't want back in, to 'Close your eyes, pick something out and smile with delight or I'll have it back.' This year I gave them Jedi wristbands made of card with four stages of training to complete. And I gave it to them straight: 'Who is hoping for a party bag today?' Sixteen or so hands shot up. 'Right, so here's the deal...' And stage four, by the way, was for being an all-round, spectacularly well-behaved 'Super Jedi'.
5 Try and get a photo of the cake moment and forget about the rest if you have to.
6 A piñata is totally worth the slimy tiresome effort you put into making it. A death star is basically a balloon covered in black paper with white floury detail that you get whether you're trying or not. And a hellofalot easier than Thomas the tank engine.
7 Kids will generally do what they're told, so getting them to decorate their own plates is worth the three minutes breathing space it gives you. Likewise, 'Sleeping Jedi' provides a welcome break, especially when you have bribed them to the hilt to do what they're told.
8 Have a list of spare games in your pocket. The effort you put into this is worth its weight in gold, because there just is no predicting what kids will get into and what they won't.
9 Work with their imaginations and have a laugh. I didn't expect Babe or his friends to believe that the Yoda signature and claw marks on the back of the huge wooden spoon we used to destroy the death star was a genuine family heirloom, but neither did I expect them to giggle a lot about it.
10 None of the above is possible without a possie of great friends to help you out and I am truly blessed in this department, as is Babe. The round of applause the kids broke into after he'd blown his candles out was (I think!) heartfelt and genuine, and testament to the fact that we had a lovely bunch of people in the room. I doubt either of us will ever have as many friends in our lives as we do right now and I feel and appreciate this often. His sixth was the first party I've had the honour to really enjoy and that one photo (mighty thanks to the friend who took it) is worth its weight in gold.
So...
It was good to get away for a bit. And it's kind of good to be back. At least I think it will be once the party dust has settled and I've caught up with myself.
We had some country air and on our last day enjoyed one of those rare bursts of winter sunshine beside the sea in which the waves sparkle and your mood lifts, no matter how determined your subconconscious is to scupper it. I am very lucky to have parents who live in two of the most beautiful parts of the country, albeit at opposite ends of it.
The Babes had a lovely time - feeding baby goats bottles of milk, going on a fantastic spooky walk, discovering dinosaur footprints, enjoying the delights of Poole park and we have now joined the ranks who have visited Peppa Pig world, courtesy of my brother. I laughed and screamed in equal measure on the rides for eight years old and above, and may go back alone one day soon, to go on the roller coaster repeatedly as I'm sure I let go of a lot of stress that day. I might suggest to Relate that they do a discount deal with Paulton's Park or similar as I reckon it's the best therapy out there. I have been thinking a lot about whether some kind of counselling could help OH and I get onto the road to recovery - or just onto a road - but we've tried it twice before, with no success whatsoever. Our first counsellor got so involved in our arguments that she ended up joined in one and then called the day after to say she'd decided to stop counselling, and the other stopped seeing us because OH was coming out with such ridiculous stuff that he felt he couldn't help us. You could see in his face that he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
My attempts to leave home 'at home' for a few days while I was away were somewhat foiled by a series of phone calls from OH, asking how to work the washing machine and the like. Entirely as predicted, the Brothers took full advantage of my absence to get their domestic stuff done. And a message from him on my birthday, suggesting that I might like to change my heart and mind and start the next year of my life afresh. Good grief.
I was, however, forced to engage with him in order to plan our journey home, as we had too much clobber to take back on a train. This included violins for the boys from my dad; (who is a violinist and whose talent I would love some of to rub off on the boys, or failing that to at least create a viable opening for music to be a force for good in their lives) a lovely winter window box from my mum which I accepted rather ungraciously because I don't like having flowers in my garden; presents for Babe and various ornaments from previous incarnations of my life, owing to a huge clear-out that has been going on it Dorset. So we met half way, in the evening.
I was determined not to ask OH loads of questions on the way home. To avoid 'bombarding' at all costs. To change my behaviour, because I can't change his. So I was very glad when Babe asked him if the cousins were going to be at home when we got back. (Babe gets confused between whether they are uncles, cousins or brothers.) And even more glad, although I was entirely expecting that they wouldn't be, when OH confirmed that they wouldn't be. I wanted a chance to assess the havoc that had been wreaked in my absence without being scrutinised. Actually, to be honest, I just wanted to come through the front door, feel glad to be home, make a cup of tea, and 'be' for a bit.
And in the next post - avid readers! - I'll tell you whether that's what happened or not!
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