Birthday cake and a dollop of embarrassment on the side.

I don’t know about you, but during the winter in Vico, the highlight of our weekend can often be a birthday party. Pre-kids, you know that life you once had, this meant getting dressed up and hitting the town for lots of bubbles and laughs. It was fun, sometimes messy, but always fun.

Ah how life has reversed. Now it is always messy and sometimes fun.

The only bubbles on offer are the snot bubbles coming out of kids noses who are freezing themselves silly outside in the cold. And instead of the beer niggles the next day, my sugar coma induces a fresh reminder of what embarrassment my offspring have put me through in the latest public encounter.

One of the toughest things about having kids for me is seeing the parts of myself that I don’t like very much rearing their ugly heads in my little boys. Now I have never gone around hitting people at parties who stole my balloon, and thankfully the wild child has realised you don’t make too many friends this way. But it still seems that  even when he is being as good as is humanly possible for him, he still manages to have another kid in tears.

Today was an accident, but another gorgeous little one was in tears and it was my kids fault. No big deal and yet it makes me feel like an old version of myself. Saying the wrong thing to someone at a party and upsetting them, or more often, myself. So the highlight of my weekend now entails chasing my kids around in the rain, sweeping up the glass The Stink smashed on the ground, apologising to another mother for my kid kicking a ball too hard, having sentence long conversations and carrying a crying wild child around who cut his finger.

The food was delicious and the hosts were their usual lovely selves. There were lots of people there I would have loved to chat to, but even after four years of being a parent, I still can’t work out how to have a decent conversation with anyone socially while The Stink is up to his armpits in a bucket of water or the wild child is kamikazying off the top of the cubby. I have endless admiration for those parents who either don’t have to worry about what risk taking behaviour their kid is trying out, or are cool enough not to worry if they do.

Instead I hover, helicopter whatever you want to call it, trying to avoid the public humiliation I clearly didn’t avoid today. In fact if I wasn’t there when the ball got kicked then I probably wouldn’t feel bad.  I might have actually been able to stop and listen to someone else for five minutes instead of squeezing my one sentence into a conversation and then dashing off. It’s not a big deal, and one that wont last forever. But I’d already had a crap weekend and then my highlight got spoilt too.

Can’t wait for next weekend though, a massive birthday for a community organisation and a christening. Let’s just see if we can top this one. Strangers and a quiet church service. Surely nothing could go wrong with that picture!

At least there will be cake…

 

 

 

 



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