…It’s party time. Well not until tomorrow but it’s imminent. The ‘2 year old in a teenager’s body’ is having a party. We’ve selected the venue (his favourite softplay centre): small, easy to get to, fabulous toys including his favourite ‘the oven’, always pristine sans the ubiquitous childrens’ dribble and I don’t actually have to get into the ball pit as visibility from the seating area/magazine stand is peripheral.
What? I’ve done my time in those ball pits believe me and have the war scars to prove it.
So the party bags have been chosen (damn me if I remember which ones), the seating planned arranged, the Waybuloo cake ordered. It was In the Night Garden last year sweetie so we couldn’t possibly repeat ourselves. What would the neighbours say?
I’m most excited for the pièce de résistance (no not Justin Fletcher/Mr Tumble) making an appearance (that’s next year!) but a DISCO. YES you read correctly. A D-I-S-C-O! I experienced the disco at another party and had to opt for it. OK it’s only a 15 minute set but they turn the lights down and everything and there’s a disco ball.
Not sure they’ll be playing Oliver’s fave Jay Z but he’s on the DJ list. My son’s got rhythm so I’m hoping the Waybuloo cake will do what it’s meant to and the sugar rush will result in a body popping, two stepping standing ovation worthy performance from the man of the day. He better not let me down! (Pushy Mum moi?)
Now pass the cocktails and let’s party…
P.S. As much as I’d like it to be, Oliver’s 2nd birthday party won’t be at the Lonsdale in London. Shame.
Photograph ©Vicki Psarias-Broadbent.