Last days of disco

After spending 500 gazillion hours on the internet, Googling “kids disco party” and goggling at paying Holly Hip Hop $310 for 90 minutes of jiggling and glitter tattoos, I’ve decided to kit Husband in only-gay-in-the-village attire and make him teach 16 six-year-old girls the Macarena and Time Warp instead. It’s probably the last time we can act as DIY party entertainers without totally mortifying Sprog 2 – and we come super-cheap – so we might as well make hay while the sun shines. Or, in this case, daggy dance moves in a blacked-out suburban loungeroom. I’ve already got my Jaycar spinning disco ball (best $39.95 I’ve ever spent), which I’ve supplemented with a standard-issue disco ball to hang from the ceiling and a bag of crappy plastic prizes – those dodgy $2 shop necklaces, plastic rings and fake sunglasses that gather dust in bedrooms until eventually being stood on, broken and thrown out. I’ve also got a box of silver clutch purses that I convinced my former magazine’s marketing department would go gangbusters as gifts with purchase (but didn’t) that I’ve been dying to use as goodie bags. They weren’t quite the thing at Sprog 1’s gross birthday party, but fortunately Sprog 2 digs frippery the way Sprog 1 (literally) digs worms. I’ve sourced lolly lip glosses (most likely from China and laced with deadly chemicals) to put in the goodie bags, along with mini disco ball keyrings and rubber butterfly slappy things left over from the Beetles, Bugs & Butterflies party Sprog 2 had last year (they’re goldfish at that age, they’ll never remember). A couple of games of musical statues, a dance competition, Husband’s funky dance lessons, some silver and gold glitter hair spray, some rainbow toenail painting (though wowser Husband continues to bang on about it sexualising children – yawn – so I might need to run it past the other mums first), pass the parcel … that’ll do the trick, won’t it? Sprog 2 has requested a birthday cake shaped like a handbag, filled with lolly make-up and necklaces. Tricky, but I love a challenge. I’ll admit, I got a bit wobbly about the whole self-hosting thing after recent six-year-old’s party I attended, where a guest shoved the birthday girl out of the way to take her prime position in front of the birthday cake (much sobbing and drumming of heels on the floor ensued) and the pinata turned mosh-pit ugly, but generally I’m comfortable with our decision. And so is my over-stretched wallet.