Sunday, 28 October 2007

"It’s My Party and I’ll Come If I Want To...Come If I Want To..."

"In which alternate universe is it all right to lie in bed all morning?" I bark at Jay over my shoulder this morning at 8am as I heave myself out of bed and negotiate the minefield of books, dirty nappies, small chokable plastic toys and biscuit crumbs which litter our bedroom floor.

Dada and I are valiantly nursing big hangovers from last nights shenanigans - Auntie Kenz's birthday party - held in a private room at a local nightspot. I should have known we'd be in trouble when Jay left his card behind the bar (it's so much easier to drink more when you just have to slur out the words, 'tab 53') and after copious amounts of champagne and cranberry vodka's, I had even failed to notice my 11 month old being bounced on the knees of a complete stranger across the room, and my 3 year old carrying on an animated conversation with a rather attractive blond in the corner.

No, you did not hear wrong. Egg and Ollie attended their first ever 'big boy' party last night. Hell, at their ages it's about now I can explain where Dada is all the time when he's not home :)

As it was a private party (and our friends made the bar more money than they make in a week) we were allowed to bring the boys, and I must say that for rugrats, they were a big hit. (Given the large number of gay men in attendance it proved a very amusing pastime to plop a baby on their knees and watch them cringe and try not to look as horrified as they felt whilst jiggling them up and down and looking frantically across the room for some sort of escape.)

Egg sipped on his apple juice box like a sophisticate and Ollie charmed the ladies with his long-lashes and half-smiles, and a great time was had by all (especially me, since I barely saw them at all during the evening...this might have been less about trying to give me a break, and more of a conscious group effort to keep the darling kiddies away from an inebbriated and slightly too jolly mummy...don't know and don't care - either way it was a result)

I do faintly recall an episode at the bar whereby the bartender was measuring up a 'redbull & vodka' for me in a giant pint glass, and asked whether i'd like a single or double shot. I started to say 'double' but was drowned out by a bark from my husband requesting a 'single'. He of course was one to talk given the photo evidence I collected of him in various ridiculous poses throughout the night - clad in a short-sleeved black shirt and red bow tie no less.

Shortly after midnight the four of us headed home across the park, and though Egg withstood the transfer from pushchair to bed without waking, Ollie was not so lucky (or rather I wasn't) and was up for the next hour, watching me devour cold pizza and maltesers with a solemn gaze. He insisted on being cuddled and would only fall asleep in the crook of my arm in bed, but as it turns out it didn't matter anyway as my old 'alleycat' of a husband snuck right back out to continue festivities out from under the watchful eyes of his family.

Nevermind. This morning whilst I was fashioning cappucino's for us downstairs with a bloody hand (knives and hangovers DO NOT MIX) Dumps lived up to his nickname and dumped a whole glass of cold water on Jay's side of the bed. I am currently curled up on MY dry side now, and can almost ignore the wailing of Dumps in his cot next door as I type these words and continue to recline like a vegetable in bed.

Plans for the rest of the day include a dvd, lazing around reading the sunday papers and trying to the best of our impaired abilities make sure that our sons survive another day unscathed and live to see tomorrow without burning the house down, flooding the bathroom or throwing each other down the stairs. In other words, just another day in paradise.

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