Birthday Boy

 

“Mum can you not be embarrassing today?” asked my oldest, minutes before his ninth birthday party began.

“How so?”

“Just don’t be embarrassing,” he begged.

“Okay, so is it alright if I wear this to your Ninja Turtle party?” I asked, realising I was wearing a green-striped shirt.

“Okay,” he sighed.

“And can you please not hover round the kitchen asking when the food is going to be ready,” I asked him in return.

“Yep,” he cried distractedly, rushing off to answer the door bell.

Soon me and my house were bombarded by nine boisterous boys, counting my own two, plus birthday boy’s sister so, having just finished a last-minute Ninja Turtle cake, I got stuck into preparing the food.

It’s drop-offs and pick-ups these days – long gone are the baby days when the party was more about entertaining the adults. Flip, I remember the twins’ first birthday party when there were around 100 on the guest list. I’m pretty sure that’s not a journalist’s exaggeration either – between all the friends and family and their kids it was around that figure. Not all of them could make it, thank goodness, for the baby capsules alone took up all of the small lounge.

Organising a party for that many, in between baby feeds and sleeps was quite stressful but nowadays it’s a lot easier, I thought to myself as I put the pizzas in the oven and tried not to over- boil the cocktail sausages.

“Guys come and look at all this pizza,” said birthday boy, who like the Ninja Turtles, is mad-keen on pizza, and had forgotten my plea not to hover round the kitchen.

A trail of boys followed him into the kitchen and then, spotting the food strewn around the bench on various platters, decided they were ravenous.

“Shoo!” I ushered them back out of the kitchen.

Next minute, another lot of boys thundered up the stairs on a mission and filed past. “Mmmm Burger Rings!” exclaimed one, catching site of one of the plates.

They all swarmed in closer like a flock of hungry seagulls. Finally after another ten similar episodes (and that’s no exaggeration either), I locked them outside for the remaining ten minutes while I got the food to the table.

It turns out nine-year-old boys eat a lot. Despite the fact the table was groaning with food, by the end of the party, it had all gone.

Another difference, I noted, was that nine-year-old boys entertain themselves.

“Jodi, can we play hide-‘n’-seek?” one lovely well-mannered boy came and asked.

“Uh, sure,” I replied thinking of the pass the parcel and musical cushions games I had lined up.

As it happened, they spent the majority of the party outside playing hide-n’-seek (minus a few others who were hooked on the Play Station), meaning I had to drag them away for my organised games. However, they still happily partook and the post-junk food musical statues went down a treat with all their new-found energy, as did the dress up and eat chocolate with a knife and fork before the dice lands on six, with a fair amount of cheating there.

Yes, despite the carnage – a whole lot of popped balloons, discarded wrapping paper, dropped food and a trail of muddy footprints throughout the house – birthday parties definitely get easier.

All except for one thing: do you think I could get a happy smiling photo of my birthday boy and his mum?

Never mind, I photo-bombed one of him smiling with his mates. Oops – there went my pact not to be embarrassing mum.