Fifth birthday fun

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Fifth birthday fun

As I invariably complain at this time of the year — all our birthdays and Christmases seem to come at once.

Actually it isn’t all. A whole gang of family have birthdays in June and July, which is a much more sensible arrangement and nicely breaks up the celebration pressure over the year.

And it is really only two birthdays in our household that fall during December, plus Baby Jesus.

It still leaves us dithering over appropriate birthday gifts just when you are worrying about what on earth to get for Auntie for her Christmas stocking this year.

Actually they are known in our house as Christmas socks — stockings having never entered the world of the preschoolers. Never will, if they have any sense.

I don’t believe I have ever seen anything less erotic than nether ends squeezed into thin nylon tights. They are a struggle to fit on and also itch. Step-ins are equally gross and suspender belts may be something for a centrefold to wear but are about as comfortable as a thong.

If you don’t know what these are, don’t bother finding out. Rest assured we won’t be buying any for Auntie.

Anyway, they didn’t enter the picture last weekend when we celebrated the fifth birthday of Tufaan Taylor, the Hurricane of Flagstaff.

Just a children’s party, you say to yourself. Can’t be too difficult. Catering should be a pushover as long as there is cake.

Yeah, right.

You begin with grandiose ideas of a theme. Perhaps wild animals, camping, Indiana Jones and a treasure hunt.

Sweaty children in costume acting like wild animals. Perhaps not. Camping in this weather? Indiana Jones hunting anything in our compound would need mosquito repellent armour and rubber boots.

What about a pirate party? Lots of little children with toy swords and if Tufaan had anything to do with it, a devil’s pitchfork.

Princesses and fairies? Many of Tufaan’s best mates are footballers rather than fairy material and in any case, we don’t go in for that gendered stuff.

Anyway the Christmas decorations were up, that would do.

In that we were fortunate that Tufaan and her two-year-old brother, Cullen the Destroyer, were off to holiday craft classes. The paper plate turns out to be amazingly versatile, the Destroyer turns out to have a delicate touch with glitter, and by last week we had an abundance of paper plate angels, bells, Christmas trees and cards (to themselves).

The menu needed to be simple. We were short a couple of birthday party stalwarts in the kitchen.

We also didn’t want a repeat of the chocolate dipped frozen bananas — don’t ask.

Or the cute little date mice with silver eyes, slivered almond ears and liquorice tails, of which one small party-goer said to her mother: “I’ll have the tail, mum, but you eat the rat.”

The cupcake caterpillar wasn’t a smash hit either because it was so hot the icing kept slipping off its face.

We didn’t have to worry about that this year. Until a responsible parent caught up with it, one tiny was munching the icing top off the cupcakes of choice, and then carefully placing the bald cakes back on the table.

I’ve never really believed barbecues are a good idea for a large group, whatever their ages. All I know about barbecues is that you are a lot older by the time you actually get your sausage and the chops have probably run out. Sometimes you’re lucky to get a bun with a bit of salad.

Hot dogs were the go for us. Rare is the child who can resist the lure of tomato sauce.

They don’t seem to care much about the sausage, but if there is tomato sauce they’ll probably eat it.

And of course there was birthday cake. So on to sorting out the entertainment.

Apparently pass the parcel is a smash hit, but next time we won’t stick each sheet of newspaper with tape, the littlies spend half the game trying to get each piece undone, only to find it isn’t the wrap with the prize inside.

At least we had the kindness and mercy to put a sweetie inside most of the wraps, although personally I don’t think menthol cough lollies qualify. The children seemed happy enough, though I found quite a few semi-sucked ones in the potplants.

But the genius idea was the bouncy castle, a hit with the young, and as it turned out, old. Even the dog had a turn although four legs weren’t any more help than two for keeping balanced.

In the after-party wind-down, screams of mirth drew me to peep over the balcony to see a group of responsible adults, ie mothers, joyfully bouncing while their children cringed and watched open-mouthed. I knew them all, the cream of the Yat Sen alumni.

Next year I believe there is talk of a water slide and fairy floss. Probably for the over-thirty-fives.

* The writer is a regular contributor to this column. Views expressed are hers and not of this newspaper.

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