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Happy birthday Firstborn

Firstborn turned six yesterday. I think I have at least 16 new grey hairs... one for each of the ravaging beasts, erm...I mean small delightful creatures, who attended her celebratory feast.

As last year was an utterly chaotic affair - the low point being my waking up at 7am on the day of her party, the realisation that I had forgotten to make her a birthday cake like an ice-cold fist in my chest (somehow I managed to get to the supermarket for the essentials and make 24 fairy cakes by 9am so All Was Not Lost ...except maybe for my mind) - this year I tried to compensate by going into crazed SuperMom mode. The party bags were ready a whole week in advance. The gifts were selected and wrapped (well, most of them) days before. Then not only did Firstborn get 30 carefully iced fairy cakes, I made an impossibly ambitious fairy cake... in other words a cake skirt with half a Barbie stuck in it... decorated with at least a million silver balls and half a ton of piped icing, and the piece de resistance, edible paper wings hand-painted using food dye.

Yes, I know. I sound just like a S'Mother. And let me tell you, it wasn't worth it. Those sodding fiddly little silver balls took until 2am to put in place - at which point I collapsed in a frenzy, woke up early in a hideous mood and shouted at Alpha without due provocation. Thankfully the party itself was delightful, all thanks to the care and attention of the lovely people at on London's Fulham Road. Alpha was in his element hiding in the cafe upstairs with the other sensible parents. Myself? I was so frazzled and cross by the sheer effort of the whole thing that I spent quite a lot of time with my mouth full of cake in order to avoid having to make small talk with other parents, delightful as they are.

And as it turns out, although all the other beasts had a brilliant time (an orgy of cake and shouting, what's not to love?), Firstborn ended up weeping bitter tears because "the fairies didn't come!" Turns out Firstborn had written a letter to the fairies to invite them to the party, then announced to all her friends that at least one real live fairy would be attending. Apparently she will never get over the shame of the no-show....

Next year we're going for a post-modern ironic theme with lunch at MacDonalds with as many Fruit Shoots as the little darlings can stomach. Or maybe I'll just go to a spa. On my own.


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