Party Pressure

It was the perfect venue.  Huge floor to ceiling windows ran along both sides of the room, the late afternoon sunlight refracting from the huge crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.  At one end of the room, a small discreet corner bar; ornately carved in dark wood to match the polished wooden floor.  Pre-prepared pimms; summer in a glass, it’s sweetness tempered with slices of cucumber, lemon and mint, tempted party goers as if whispering; embrace me and you embrace the party spirit.  Small white plates displaying pyramids of pistachios and bright green olives, as yet untouched, lay neatly on  the front of the bar.  Along one length of the room, a long table, with chairs to seat thirty, decorated exquisitely - in a polka dot theme and laden with delightful pom pom party hats. Helium balloons waved cheerfully from the seat backs of each chair.  Bunting hung from the ceiling fluttering in the soft breeze from the open window. It was a picture perfect scene.

The tasteful banner read: 4 today.

This was my induction to children’s parties, London style.

Slick. Professional.

GULP

An entertainment duo (the creme de la creme of entertainment duos in these parts) were on hand (with bagfuls of haribo sweets) to occupy the children in the room whilst parents supped drinks from the bar, chatted and ate canapes.  It was all rather lovely, and very civilised.  Rather like something from someone’s pin interest board.  Damn you, pin interest, for making everything seem so...

Perfect.

Parties weren’t like this in my day.  We had them at home. The whole class sat around the kitchen table and the picnic table brought in from the garden. The birthday tea featured plentiful quantities of chocolate animals, chocolate fingers and iced gems. There were no worries about a 'theme' or it being overly tasteful. Just as there were no worries about children eating their quota of sandwiches or carrot sticks and hummus. The only concession to fruit was tinned pineapple (with cubes of cheese), skewered onto sticks. It was a party; sugar overload was expected. We gorged ourselves on sugar niceties until we felt sick, we played hide and seek, parcel the parcel, musical bumps, sleeping lions, and then everyone went home, with a piece of birthday cake wrapped in a napkin and a bag of sweets.  I don’t remember anyone’s parents staying, or my mum having to cater for parents.  I don’t remember any of the parties I went to having ‘entertainers’. How times have changed.

3 weeks to go until Pip’s party.

GULP

Pip didn’t have a birthday party last year.  He didn’t seem particularly bothered, and caught up in first trimester morning sickness and the ongoing saga of our house renovation project, we agreed with him that he would have a day out at Legoland and the next year, when he was four, he’d have a BIG party. He was happy with that.

One year on.  Time to stand and deliver on my promise.

I’m feeling rather stressed.

It’s a minefield this party business.  Where should I have the party? What sort of entertainer should I get?  Do I have to invite the whole class? (As far as I can tell, that seems to be the trend).  Has the venue got room for them and their parents? Do I need to offer the parents something to eat and drink? What about a theme? To goody bag or not goody bag?  High stake decision making indeed.

I confess, I hadn't spent a lot of time thinking about it.  But after the amaze balls party of the weekend, I have been shell shocked into a party planning frenzy.

GULP

In my defence, I had done something. I booked the venue ages ago. An unremarkable hall in a building owned by a local charitable trust. I decided that if I had to fork out for a hall, I’d rather that the money went to a local cause rather than to a commercial enterprise. But back then, I’d only really thought about the kids attending, not the fact I might have to provide a soiree for parents too. It’s functional, but it certainly doesn’t have the razzle dazzle factor of the last chandeliered place Pip partied.

On Sunday night, I woke in a sweat. I'd booked the entertainer on recommendation, but I’ve never actually witnessed one of his parties.  What if Captain Fantastic is less than fantastic? What if, heaven forbid, he gets stuck in traffic or is late or doesn’t turn up at all? What if I’m left with 30 children to entertain? Being a kids party entertainer is pretty high up on my list of worst jobs ever. It’s enough to make me want to lace my morning coffee with brandy just thinking about it.

Next on the stress list, to theme or not to theme? Pip has been going through a particularly fickle stage, so I decided it might be best to avoid a theme. One minute he wants a pirate party, the next it’s a superhero one, and then a day later, a knight themed party.  I took an executive decision; plates, cups and balloons in primary colours, easy to execute. 

Food. Ha! Easy. At 4 years old, they don’t care about the grub. A few sandwiches, some token crudities to appease healthy parents, some sugar laden delicacies (if only for me).  I felt relaxed about the food.  Until Husband (a shaped sandwich lover if ever there was one) announced he was going to make these: 

Source: funkylunch.com via Mummy on Pinterest

for 30 kids.

"We’re not having a Pirate party anymore". I wailed; despairing at the thought of sandwich induced stress as Husband fiddled about with ham sails and bread stick masts on the day of the party. 

"That was last week. There’s no theme anymore."

"Well, if there's no theme, we can have these sandwiches." Husband was wearing his determined face. 

I parked that battle for another day and moved on to the serious matter of the loot expected by four year old party guests. Goody bags.  What on earth should I put in the goody bags?  The last party had separate goody bags for boys and girls; another level of added complexity. A quick google on the internet and some (poor) mental arithmetic revealed that delivering party bags for 30 children adds quite significantly to one's party budget.

GULP

Yesterday

Pip: "Mummy, can I have an Octopod cake for my Octonauts party?

CUE * SERIOUS ADRENALIN RUSH*

OCTOPOD CAKE? (Couldn’t he have chosen something more regular in shape? A square perhaps?)

OCTONAUTS PARTY?

Me: (Breathing deeply): "So, you want an Octonauts party darling?" 

Pip: " Yes. Definitely. Octonauts party. Octonauts are my favourite."

Husband: "So we are having a theme... Shall I make Gup B sandwiches instead?"


What’s wrong with bog standard triangles? 


SOMEONE. HELP. ME.

I’m in party hell. And it isn’t even here yet. Who knew that throwing a party for a four year old could be so stressful?

All sage advice from those well practiced in delivering children’s parties greatly received.