My 32nd birthday was welcomed in by Little B kindly staying awake solidly between 3.40 and 5.45 in the morning. He just seemed to be chilling out, little bitta milk, little bitta talking, little bitta milk, little bitta wind, little bitta milk, little bitta wind…just having a jolly really. What’s that about?! So you embark the pretend sleeping bit where you shut your eyes and pray. I’m an atheist but I pray (would pray to the Sleep God but I’m pretty damn sure he doesn’t exist) Stupidity makes you think they will just think you’re asleep and shut their eyes and sleep too. That never happens. In fact it makes them cross that you’re even bothering to lie and then they stay up for even longer.
All knackered parents know the exact number of minutes they’re up for in the night. You almost definitely have to report it in to your other half in the morning to prove that you certainly had LESS sleep than them. That’s very important, never let them believe that they are more sleep deprived than you, it IS a direct competition, don’t forget that.
At 7.30am the birthday train burst through the bedroom door, Middle F was driving, followed by Big T and Martin brought up the rear, all singing “Happy Birthday to you!..” in unison. Heard a quick “Oh no they’re still asleep, c’mon lets go!” and the birthday train went into reverse and just as quickly backed out the door, accompanied by Middle F’s objections to being rapidly removed so soon after arriving.
When up I was presented with my cards from the boys, Big T had made a lovely card with a flower on the front and a bowl of salad in the middle. Not quite sure what he was implying.
I asked if he would mind getting me something to place my cards in, he returned with a potty saying he thought it would be a good place to keep them all together. To be fair it was very fit for purpose, so in the potty they went.
I was then asked to sit in the ‘birthday chair’. This comprised of a dining room chair in the middle of the room facing away from the television, I sat there for a bit where nothing further happened.
We had an ‘all you can eat’ breakfast at the carvery where we all fed our faces with masses of pig and egg, Martin said he felt pork drunk. Vom. Upon arrival Big T exclaimed that he couldn’t believe that some people pick their nose and eat it because that’s so disgusting. He followed this up with “I sometimes stick my finger in my ear and then lick it.” Because that’s not disgusting at all.
We have had school’s Barney the bear for the week. It’s one of those arrangements where you take pictures of what he does with you and then write about it before returning it to school. Basically a set up where you feel totally crap because all other children before you did amazing and educational activities and dined at fancy restaurants with Barney whilst you forgot about the damn bear all week. In their pictures Barney has lived the high life, clearly lived the dream with a smug smile on his face, attending the National History Museum and such like, while with us he has been face down in the dining room, cast aside and forgotten. Barney’s week of non stop fun with us has been a total non-starter. All of a sudden you find yourself frantically taking photos of your child posing with the bloody bear pretending to eat toast at the dirty carvery. Awkward. Best get the child encyclopaedia out and pose with him reading that to show that we work hard on our child’s education, even at weekends. Barney would love it.
Just finished getting ready for Middle F’s 3rd birthday tomorrow. Put Martin in charge of wrapping the birthday scooter. Think he did a good job, he’ll never guess what it is until it’s opened…
So today’s birthday has ended for another year, now back to thinking what to do with ‘Barney-the-headache’ bear by tomorrow, although just found him about to crack open a drink and whipped the camera out, happiest he’s looked all week… Treat. Your. Self.