I was recently drafted in by an acquaintance as wingman at her daughter’s 6th birthday party. Our mutual friend had been forced to back out and had volunteered me in her place. “Of course I’ll do it, it’ll be fun”. Looking back, I should have added, “for the kids”.
Now I’m not a spoilsport but when she casually revealed there would be 40 children plus Dazzle the clown, I almost choked on my cupcake. I missed my short reneging window as I regained composure. So, past the point of no return, my stall had been set as a clown-loving, super organised party planner – one she simply could NOT do without. Despite racking my brains for half decent excuses why I wasn’t the right woman for the job, I drew a blank.
My overriding concerns were noise and boredom if I’m honest. It was a bit like my thinking prebirth. I worried a little about what the neighbours would think when the crying began and how I would fill my time, not realising both would be irrelevant. When it came to it, the neighbours could go and whistle and there weren’t enough hours in the day for doing what seemed like nothing in particular (feed-burp-change-express. repeat to fade). At the party I soon discovered a similar predicament.
What a mammoth, back-breaking task this actually was! I now realise that running Little Lucy Willow is an utter breeze. Making sandwiches, chopping fruit and precision cake cutting are all skills I can now execute at break-neck speed as well as bulk beverage making for spectating
mums and dads.
When Dazzle gave the tea-time nod, we rushed from the kitchen as though facing Michel Roux jr on Masterchef, all sweaty and nervous. We raced past the parents and started to throw serve sandwiches at the masses. Arms shot up as demands for drinks crisps and cherry tomatoes were met with aplomb. Then came the real test, carrying a “Frozen” cake to the birthday girl without Elsa’s head falling off- which it did of course and rolled under the table. Luckily, the candles disguised the tragedy until a delighted boy picked it up like it was actually his
birthday…When Dazzle finally announced he would be starting the limbo competition the tables were abandoned leaving us wild-eyed and in need of a nice radox bath.
For all my dread, sweat and fears, once the last of the million chairs had been hung on the rack and the cake crumbs swept up, I felt rather exhilarated at our achievement. It felt massive. Watching some footage of the German football team parading through the streets in an opentopped bus, I turned to my husband and told him that I should be up there with them. I felt their pride as I knowingly nodded my head. Kindred spirits in our (relative!) success.