Grumpy Pants heads off to work and I am treated to the morning’s chaos, including the 8.00a.m. basketball final, where the coach of the opposition team – under 10s – scored himself a tech foul.
Head home to do much yelling about getting the place tidied, the shoes removed from various doorways along the length of the house, chips in bowls and party pies in the oven.
Oh, and Chippie dressed before guests arrive.
He does, with the aid of his older brother, just as the first of his friends arrives. This arrival sends him into a screaming meltdown, the likes of which I have witnessed before, but never in reaction to a friend showing up.
He takes a good half hour to calm down, after many futile attempts to console him. He’s left to his own devices as guests eat all the chips and dip, behind his closed bedroom door, before slowly venturing out and joining in the bomb site that is now the toy room.
He opens presents, causing much confusion over ownership, as happens with children of four years of age, where the one who is the giver of the present believes the conents of the wrapping are, indeed, his. Unfortunately, the recipient equally, and loudly, stakes his ownership claim.
Thus, each present takes approximately nine minutes, as there is the removal of paper and discarding of card, followed by a tug-of-war of sorts, until parents step in and the issue is resolved, usually resulting in a pile of untouched presents next to one child, ignored as he is onto the next unwrapping, and the other child off in a corner, crying.
This calls for cake, because hwo isn’t distracted by cake? Well, there’s always one child off having a fabulous time elsewhere, not fussed by any of it, so he isn’t even aware that there is cake until it is all eaten and he realises he has missed out.
Still, it wasn’t a bad cake, given the level of half arsedness put into its making … the kids all loved it, anyway.
Well, they liked the lollies and the icing, at any rate.
We farewelled the children and their associated parents an hour after party conclusion time, raced off to parkour, and back home again.
At which point we presented Chippie with his birthday present from his family, that I’d managed to acquire in the toy sales a few months back … a brand new, has over 65 different phrases, interractive Buzz Lightyear.
He was in heaven.
Three and a half minutes later, I was woefully regretting this two month old decision, and was ready to defenestrate Buzz.
Not long after that, I was forced to impose a blanket ban on saying the word “penis” to Buzz … quite frankly, it lost it’s appeal after the 2 millionth time ….