I rarely get a night out these days but last weekend I got to go to a family party. To start with I need to plan it with military precision I don’t want them wearing their finery til the last minute otherwise you know they’ll end up with chocolate fingerprints all over themselves.
So I get them dressed then once they’re sorted I shove a bit of makeup on sharpish whilst my daughter sticks her finger in my eyeshadow and I wrestle with her so she doesn’t smear in up the wall.
Once we’re all looking smart out comes the phone for the obligatory selfie…
Bundle the darlings in the car and off we go. Where are we going? What are we doing? Why have you stopped? Are we nearly there yet? Pull up to the venue and walk the wrong way around to the doors so have to double back looking like a bunch of numpties.
Walk into the party and the kids literally sniff out the slushy machine that’s been laid on for the younger (and young at heart) attendees. After 3 of these bad boys the kids have a major sugar rush and are running up and down the dancefloor like a scene from Braveheart. Cue me running after my daughter when she lifts her dress over her head flashing her pants at all and sundry!
The disco dude pipes up offering the kids to play some party games. Collective sigh goes around the room as we think we’ll get 10 minutes peace. Ohhhhh no, not the case. ‘Run and get a parent to help you’ he screeches. My hand gets grabbed and I’m launched to the front to show myself up in front of the whole room. How bad can it be? Bloody Limbo dancing, that’s how bad! I’m pleased to say as the designated driver I didn’t make a royal tit of myself – for once. I actually won for the female parents. A balloon, that was swiftly nicked by the kids. Typical.
Musn’t forget the picture of my shoes because that’s a thing right? Everyone on Instagram does it!
On to the buffet, the kids stuff their faces and across the room you hear someone shouting ‘don’t touch what you’re not going to eat’ and know instinctively it’s your Mum. Son 2 has 3 bowls of tuna pasta and decides he’s tired and wants to go home. Takes 3 1/2 hours to say goodbye and have a little weep to yourself because your Auntie looks just like your Nan who passed a few years ago.
Have the customary row in the car on the way home because you’ve spent all night talking to ‘everyone but him’ because he’s a bit squiffy – how bloody annoying are people when they’re drunk and you’re not?
Get home, make a coffee sit down and relax and then get a phonecall from brother and son 1 who can’t get a taxi.Drive all the way back to pick them up. Crawl into bed and wake up in the morning feeling hungover despite not having touched a drop!