Younger boy turned 8 last Thursday, I don’t know where the time has gone, but at the same time it feels as if he has been around forever. In previous years (for both boys), parties have involved either soft play or football, although one year I hired a gaming wagon and another year I hired a hall and a bouncy castle. As any parent will know, parties come with pressure. Pressure to compete, pressure to conform both of which equate to getting it right. In years gone by I used to put considerable effort into making cakes and selecting things for party bags. However, its fair to say that I am rapidly approaching the point of being a bit partied out.
This year our preferred option (a football party) was logistically impossible. I considered other options to include swimming (too much margin for error and did I really want to parade around in front of other kids and perhaps other parents in swimwear – no) and bowling (I decided that it was too expensive and time-consuming). After a small amount of deliberation and bravery, I decided to invite a small number of boys to our house to hang out and eat Dominos pizza. The idea being that they could please themselves by playing Xbox, table tennis and by no doubt partaking in a lot of rough and tumble. I invited seven boys, one was unable to make it, the other six all accepted. At this point I was grateful that I didn’t have to write out thirty invitations as I did in the days when parties meant inviting the whole class whilst waiting for two-thirds of the parents to reply.
The day dawned and I panicked about whether they would have enough to do to be entertained. At the last-minute (as the boys were starting to arrive, I decided that a game of musical chairs might be a good way of starting off, yes you can tell I was an 80s child. I remembered that I had no prizes other than left over Christmas chocolates, so quickly abandoned the idea, especially after realising that the volume on youtube wasn’t working very well.
In between running around liked feral monkeys together with an over excited dog, the boys played XBox and table tennis. I ordered pizza and in a predictable manner over ordered considerably, what is it about the fear of kids being hungry and going home and telling their Mums that they haven’t had enough to eat? We still have pizza left three days later and my husband is the king of eating leftovers.
All in all, despite the party obviously being a noisy affair, it went well. I was told that the boys had had fun and have decided for my own sanity to take this as gospel. When the time came to go home, the boys disbursed each with a pot of slime and a piece of football cake (not homemade)