The Grumpy Bastard and I went to a birthday party last night.
The invitation was addressed to the two of us – not the kids!
A babysitter – The Best Uncle In Melbourne (and not the Favourite Uncle / The Best Uncle In The Universe whom is also currently Worst Brother In The World as the bastard is still in Sweden and making finding a babysitter incredibly difficult indeed!) was seconded … and agreed.
“We’ll be home by 10 or 11 I’m guessing,” I assured him a couple of days ago.
We were picked up by another School Mum, who also agreed to drop us home. There was a moment there where it was a bit dubious as to whether that was actually happening or not when I saw her Zumba-ing with an eight year old and her fourth glass of wine …
Meanwhile, Grumpy Pants was cornered by another party guests, yet another School Mum had produced a jug of Midori Splice, and so nicely shared it, and I sampled the “wine buffet” … but only because others kept filling my glass with whatever bottle of whatever they had in their hand.
After being the first group to arrive, I looked around some hours later (it felt like two) and at 23 miutes past midnight and discovered we were also the last group to leave.
At quarter to 1, the babysitter rang and asked if we were coming home soon.
At ten past one, he rang again … and asked us if we had plans to come home at all?
This morning, we had a basketball game at 8.00a.m. Because parents of children under the age of 10 need to be tortured and tormented even more than just through the sheer pleasure of having an eight or nine year old child.
I had very little sleep, what with the late night, a three-year-old visitor just after four, who had wet his bed and insisted on throwing a tantrum relating to a desire to have a bath at that hour.
At 7.00am I awoke. Well, technically, I was already awake. I was just wishing hopelessly for sleep.
I lay there, pondering whether I was actually up for a basketball game and whether leaving in half an hour was a good idea.
I was NOT hungover!
Not at all. Not in the slightest.
And I lay there for fifteen minutes, Godzilla still asleep, having an argument with myself about whether he should go or not. I really, really hate him not going. But he was still asleep and I have no idea what time he went to bed last night and if he would be too tired. But, I really don’t want him to miss out and let the team down. Also, I’m not sure I should be driving.
Mostly I couldn’t bear the “He missed the game because he mother was hungover” scenario. I’d never be able to let that go.
Besides, I wasn’t hungover.
I really, honestly don’t think the alcohol I’d consumed had enough time to work through my system in order for me to be hungover. I think I was still mildly intoxicated.
Grumpy Pants took him instead. I think he was getting annoyed with the naked three-year-old in our bed, wriggling about and kicking is both in the back simultaneously. Impressive how he can do that.
I made bacon and eggs. When I got up. Eventually.
Then I did parkour duty, and promised the kids we’d to and buy some new pyjamas afterwards, but was too tired, so accidentally climbed into mine before we could go …
I have decided my more of my friends should have more parties for themselves and not their kids. They are way more fun.