Thursday, 20 June 2013

"What To Do When Your Egg Just Keeps Ageing"

Egg's last day of being an 8 yr old...
 Yeah you heard right.  This is a belated birthday post dedicated to the newly minted nine year old, my firstborn son Egg, and NOT a moan about an ageing womb.

I simply can't believe this nine year old boy is mine.  He is getting so tall and broad shouldered (and so handsome!) that I sometimes have to stop and stare at this marvellous creature that somehow sprung from such two well-meaning but terribly flawed specimens :)

Having put on an Olympics-themed extravaganza for his 8th birthday party, we weren't sure how we could possibly outdo that this year.  Thankfully Egg was very forthcoming and begged for a sleepover. For nine boys.  In our three bed flat.  Night(bloody)mare.  But after much coercion we were able to whittle that list down to a more manageable five (plus Dumpie, made seven).

It was hardcore.  But very fun indeed.  Not for us mind, but for the uber-excited, sweet-gorging, pinata-whacking, pizza-chomping, watergun-toting, sundae-making, movie-watching, tennis-playing, pillow-fighting little guys.

At one point around midnight after trying to at least make a dent in the washing/clearing up downstairs, and having delivered great whacking bowls of popcorn upstairs to the boys room (only to be met with the sweetest and most polite smiles when I begged them to keep it down), I closed the door, counted to five and heard the predictable roar of chaos resume.

Upstairs, much to my horror and amusement, I found the husband passed out cold in bed, under the covers and in for the duration.

Uh-uh that was NOT going to happen.  So after a concerted effort of combined pleas, whimpering and shakage, he awoke with a start and stomped downstairs.  Apparently he didn't have much better luck calming things down as he returned a few minutes later for a brief respite - freaked out that a few of the boys appeared to be twitching spasmodically and mumbling incoherently due to excessive sugar intake (this apparently down to me and my over-the-top provisions).

I was too tired to argue, and as he stormed back downstairs a few minutes later, all I remember is climbing groggily into bed and...well, apparently passing out for the night.  Oops.

Anyway, alls well that ends well, and they eventually fell asleep (so I heard) sometime around 3am!  In what has now become a time honoured birthday party tradition, we rewarded ourselves for a job well done, with a lovely stroll and a restorative tipple at a lovely local pub at noon the next day - trying to ignore a miserable Egg who had yet to receive his big birthday present from us and was gutted to hear that it definitely WASN'T an ipod touch.  (FYI it was better.  So there Egg.)

Bless him, he awoke on his (real) birthday morning a few days ago, begging to unlock the terrace and run outside and see if his 'magic plant' had grown a treat for him.  (Every year since he was little i'd bury a treat in one of the giant plant pots and he'd honestly believe that it had magically grown (a la jack on the beanstalk) for him especially.

I suddenly realised that I had TOTALLY forgotten to do it this year, and made some stupid excuse about not being able to find the keys to let him out and he looked at me, with that sweet smile of his, totally sussed the situation and somewhat wistfully enquired whether I had forgotten.

I did what any parent would do it this situation.  I lied.  Badly.

And later that day after school he went outside and found his box of chocolates and I overheard him telling his friend, "My mum pretends that there is a magic tree but she almost forgot this year."

Any day now he's going to put Bacon the bear on a shelf for good and stop sleeping with him and taking him around the house.  Any day now.

...and I shall weep.

Last sleep as an 8 yr old...

Presents rock (thanks Aunties/Uncles!)

Sharing 'Birthday Weekend' with Dada on 'Father's Day' 

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