Happy Birthday to ya, happy birthday...

Having children puts you in really weird positions, ones you could never imagine BC, not just even imagine but even begin to contemplate as a tiny germ of a possibility. First off is the mad bad world of baby groups - talk about culture shock, those places are seismic on the psyche. And yet they lure you back time and again as adult conversation with brain numbed ladies who are as worn out and sleep deprived as you is oddly seductive when weighed up against the alternative of no conversation at all. If you're very lucky you'll even get to know other mothers names and not just that of their offspring, I spent months knowing people as 'little Ethan's mum' or the lady from playgroup with the small baby. And if the gods are really smiling on you then you'll meet mums (friends BC are obviously excluded from this) who you genuinely like and could actually be friends with outside of the whole baby deal - that is a rare find and one to be treasured. I can count them on one hand so am either really anti social or incredibly discerning.

So, as my wee ones gained a few years it felt like progress to leave behind playgroups and that whole weird baby centric world that I took part in without being part of - it felt like I'd done my tour of duty. Why did no one warn me about  kids parties then? Oh horror I may have finished one tour but there are clearly a lot more on the way and I'm just not ready for the terms of combat. Now my wee man is older the parties have got more complex and we've just done the first of the 'don't know a soul here, not even the child who invited us' parties. Weird doesn't even begin to describe it. Being back at work I just don't meet other mums at the nursery, we all drop them off and scoop them up at random times dictated by the whims of employment. So, Saturday we're all gathered in a room and 80 % of people seem to know no one especially well so bond over 'lifestyle snap' - oh you wear prada - me too - lets chat - that sort of thing. The other 20% do know each other and form tight cliques which permit no outsiders. Lifestyle snap in that particular time and place was never going to work in my favour; so it was with relief I spotted the availability of vino plonko for grown ups, filled up a glass and secured a seat by the window so I could at least see the outside world and remember it existed.

cupcakes at dawn - the arrival of the status party

Now while I admit to imbibing a few glasses to get me through I can honestly say I was amazed - nay shocked - at the enthusiasm with which the yummy mummies hit the bottle. As cheeks got pinker, hips got looser (oh yes sir I can boogie so long as its ooh-ooh-ooh I want be like you-oo-ooo) and perfect smiles slipped away to reveal the frazzled souls beneath. One particular lady who upon arrival was cradling her darling and cheering on spotty-frocky-wocky-doodah-clownface an hour or so in dashed past me gently shrieking 'I will thrown him out the window' as her darling one made off with the birthday present stash that wasn't his. That was nice. We're all the same under the designer frocks.

Still it was hard work. Kids, cake and party tricks all equate to total mayhem which is not eased by the social stonewalling of parents with agendas. Maybe seeing the Rum Diary the night before had tainted my reasoning but it was a challenge not to stand up and shout 'what kind of fuckery is this?' Hunter would have been pleased I'm sure, not convinced the other grown ups would have seen the funny side. Thankfully not all kids parties will be thus - with friends the deal is entirely different and you don't even need a glass of vino to get through it as I discovered on the Sunday. So hurrah for that. The landscape of parenting may be shifting again but at least I know I can always rely on my friends for a good time.

festivities galore

It is that time of year isn't it when folks get festive and frolicky. Every which way you turn there is a party, gathering or get together. Round our place things are triply festive focussed with not one but two birthdays and the visit from the man in red. Throw in xmas social parties and it is all cakes, booze and bad food as far as the eye can see. That healthy eating regime? Ah yes, a fond memory. Bank balance - let us not dwell where accountants fear to tally. Close eyes, hide scales and hunker down till January. That's what I'm doing. Although with this belly I can give Santa a run for his money. Ho-ho-ho. I'm crying on the inside. Well, snuffling. I may need a comfort chocolate. Quick put on a festive weepy so it can all come out. Or better yet a fab festive celebrity work out dvd. What is it with the celebs and work outs? Like it isn't enough they force themselves to live on twigs and spend twenty hours a day crunching flab and crushing abs they have to inflict their body wisdom onto us. And at Christmas no less? The cheek! Pass the mince pies nurse please.

Wee boy was first up with the Dec parties, hosting his third birthday in the pub. Cancel that call to the social care unit - we hired the function room. Two nights in a row we cooked and created in the kitchen till way past the witching hour making sure all was ready for his big day. He wanted a tractor cake - with a trailer no less - so a tractor is what he got. Took some sculpting with the butter cream icing I can tell you. For all mums wondering how to entertain wee ones who are too young to get party games proper but too old to be happy with a chew stick I can highly recommend the pinata. We got the wee man a guitar one as didn't want the moral ambiguity of encouraging him to bash an animal till it bursts. Ah the glee they attacked that poor guitar with would have Pete Townsend blushing with pride. Although giving 3 year olds a chair leg and letting them loose was not the wisest move at first - rules were swiftly established. Cancel that 999 call. Pinata burst, sweeties exploded to freedom, very happy children followed.

Tomorrow will be my turn. The mummies have formed a collective for our own 'staff Christmas party', well when you work from home ain't no one gonna do it for ya. This too will kick off in a pub, but in the adults only proper grown ups section where consumption of booze is encouraged, nay celebrated. We don't plan on bashing anything unless it's a mugger on the way home with our handbag. But a few drinks, dinner, cocktails later and child free banter will bring the perfect twinkle to the festive build up. Am I excited? Oh ya mama I am busting at the seams for bit of proper girly social frivolity. Out on the town with big tall hubby is all well and good but a night on the tiles with the ladies is what every woman needs once in a while. Make mine a double and see you for bacon sarnies when the sun comes up.

Before the hangover has a chance to subside it'll be big tall hubby's turn to raise a glass to 38 and not a few days after that we'll be toasting the arrival of Santa down the chimney up in bonny Scotland. But that's a blog for another day. Eat well, drink up and party down. And hang the expense, it's Christmas.