Saturday was Lola’s 8th birthday do and it heralded a new dawn in my approach to children’s parties. Gone is the mass invite: “Bring yourself and your child! Their siblings! Pets welcome! Neighbours too! The toothless lady who’s a known shoplifter and drinks cider down the park whilst swearing at passers-by? Tell her to come! I’ll even get some cider in…”
Well, no more.
Saturday was streamlined. It was specific. For a starters it was girls only, which immediately slashed numbers dramatically; thanks to a male dominant gene in the other half’s family the kids have boy cousins by the dozens (ok not that many, it just rhymed in a really cool way) so their absence freed up a large portion of the room and of mini sausages.
The sibling rule may apply at nice schools, but it didn’t wash here on Saturday, which meant that apart from my other two offspring there were no random toddlers toddling about or bored 10 year olds slumped in the corner wishing they were elsewhere.
Less children means less parents too, and most of the mums quite rightly “dropped and ran” to take advantage of having one less child to shout at for a couple of hours.
The bash was a huge success and instead of me dashing about with egg mayonnaise in my fringe feeding, watering and entertaining a houseful of various generations I got to watch the brilliant entertainer Melissa teach the girls dance routine to vaguely inappropriate dance tracks (LMFAO’s “sexy and I know it”, anyone?) whilst I added the finishing touches to the modest yet delicious finger buffet.