Incoming
Anna and I went to our first 8-year old birthday party two nights ago and we have only just recovered. It gave me a frightening taste of what I should be steeling myself for in 7 ½ years time. I think I might need that long to psyche myself up. I like to think I was not the only adult there who breathed a great big long sigh of relief when the kids were finally and firmly ensconced in front of 'Ice Age' on the DVD – what did parents do before video and DVD's were invented? – and then took a moment to reflect on how peaceful and quiet everything suddenly seemed.
Full marks to the mother of the birthday boy, who organised a superb Treasure Hunt, complete with torches (it was an evening party), incorporating lots of running around the park opposite and which culminated in the finding of a box of treasure containing a goodie bag for each child– not one single kiddie had been forgotten, either in the park or in the distribution of goodies, which I think shows a Herculean effort in the planning department. There was even one for Anna, which I declined because I don't know when her memory kick-starts and I don't want her to be developing a taste for impossible standards that I will doubtless fall short of for the rest of my life.
On the subject of short cuts, which I am a big fan of, there was an example of the best party hint for ice-cream cake on the planet: buy a big 4 litre tub of ice cream, run it under hot water and invert it onto a big plate, squirt chocolate Ice Magic everywhere, decorate the bottom with whipped cream (or in this case, mini Easter eggs), and bung the required number of candles on top. The kids love it and they have no idea that it is not a cake from a fancy shop which has cost you a king's ransom, and which melts at exactly the same pace.
8 year old boys are quite difficult to buy for, I discovered. Especially if you don't know the boy all that well, and especially if you are having a short week and can't afford to throw a lot of moola around. A friend of mine recommended a water pistol as being a sure-fire gift for any boy under the age of 96, offering hours of entertainment at relatively little cost. It sounded sensible but I thought the boy's mother was likely to be someone who disapproves of toy guns and I didn't want to run the risk. (I can't think now why I didn't just ring her and find out what he wanted….) So I took the safe bet and bought a yo-yo instead.
It went down a treat. Being 8, the young lad made a ferociously concentrated effort to learn how to use a yo-yo for about three minutes. Then it was discarded for a while, long enough to whoop and yell a lap around the back garden with his mates, until the light bulb moment happened and the realisation made that whooping and yelling laps around the garden with your mates was much more thrilling if one was hanging on to the string end of a yo-yo and waving the hard, tooth-cracking, nose-breaking end around your head, like a psychotic organic helicopter who's eaten too much sugar. At least no-one was in any danger of losing an eye – very bad bruising was on the cards, yes, but you'd have to have been very unlucky indeed to actually lose it altogether.
I think, as ideologically dodgy as they may be, a humble water pistol would have been physically safer.
Full marks to the mother of the birthday boy, who organised a superb Treasure Hunt, complete with torches (it was an evening party), incorporating lots of running around the park opposite and which culminated in the finding of a box of treasure containing a goodie bag for each child– not one single kiddie had been forgotten, either in the park or in the distribution of goodies, which I think shows a Herculean effort in the planning department. There was even one for Anna, which I declined because I don't know when her memory kick-starts and I don't want her to be developing a taste for impossible standards that I will doubtless fall short of for the rest of my life.
On the subject of short cuts, which I am a big fan of, there was an example of the best party hint for ice-cream cake on the planet: buy a big 4 litre tub of ice cream, run it under hot water and invert it onto a big plate, squirt chocolate Ice Magic everywhere, decorate the bottom with whipped cream (or in this case, mini Easter eggs), and bung the required number of candles on top. The kids love it and they have no idea that it is not a cake from a fancy shop which has cost you a king's ransom, and which melts at exactly the same pace.
8 year old boys are quite difficult to buy for, I discovered. Especially if you don't know the boy all that well, and especially if you are having a short week and can't afford to throw a lot of moola around. A friend of mine recommended a water pistol as being a sure-fire gift for any boy under the age of 96, offering hours of entertainment at relatively little cost. It sounded sensible but I thought the boy's mother was likely to be someone who disapproves of toy guns and I didn't want to run the risk. (I can't think now why I didn't just ring her and find out what he wanted….) So I took the safe bet and bought a yo-yo instead.
It went down a treat. Being 8, the young lad made a ferociously concentrated effort to learn how to use a yo-yo for about three minutes. Then it was discarded for a while, long enough to whoop and yell a lap around the back garden with his mates, until the light bulb moment happened and the realisation made that whooping and yelling laps around the garden with your mates was much more thrilling if one was hanging on to the string end of a yo-yo and waving the hard, tooth-cracking, nose-breaking end around your head, like a psychotic organic helicopter who's eaten too much sugar. At least no-one was in any danger of losing an eye – very bad bruising was on the cards, yes, but you'd have to have been very unlucky indeed to actually lose it altogether.
I think, as ideologically dodgy as they may be, a humble water pistol would have been physically safer.
posted by Helen at 12:25 pm
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