The Festival of the Birthday

It was the Official Closing Ceremony for Sprog 2’s Festival of the Birthday yesterday. I collected five children from school and drove them to Luna Park (or Luna Fark, as I prefer to call it, see for two and a half hours of “fun”. (That’s a bit harsh. The Spider ride made me squeal like a girl, while the six-year-old sitting next to me squirmed with embarrassment.) The Festival of the Birthday had its Official Opening Ceremony on March 17, with a disco party for 15 little people. The celebrations continued on March 18 with yum cha for the extended family. (If I’m ever on death row, yum cha is my last supper, got it?) Sprog 2’s actual birthday was on Thursday. I remembered on Wednesday night around dinnertime that cupcakes would be required for her classmates the next day. We were out of vanilla essence, but had plenty of corn-syrup-ladened-pre-mixed icing leftover from the birthday, which excused a multitude of sins, including not having enough eggs and butter for the cake mixture. Husband and I stood frenetically icing the bloody things at 9pm, with mild panic ensuing when the cachous supplies were exhausted, but I think I managed to cover it up with generous sprinklings of blue sugary stuff. On the afternoon of The Actual Birthday, Sprog 2 and I adjourned to Target to spend a $20 gift card she’d been given. She chose a weird baby doll Husband has christened “The Troll” and a dolly car seat. Then we toddled over to a trendy cupcake shop to select two items for the Sprogs to enjoy for dessert. Finally, yesterday, we concluded the festivities with a Luna Park visit. Initially I’d just invited everyone I knew who had a year pass: Sprog 1, Sprog 2, Cousin 1 and Friend 1. Cousin 1 and Friend 1 are more Sprog 1’s vintage. So Sprog 2 says to me: “I thought this was my birthday. Why can’t one of my friends come?” And I’m thinking, good point, Sprog 2. Damn, now I’ll have to pay $35 for another chillun to accompany us. Oh, and I’ll need an extra car to transport everyone. So Sister kindly dropped off her car yesterday morning. I jogged barefoot after her to the bus stop, panicking I’d misplaced Cousin’s Luna Park card. I needed her house keys in addition to her car keys so I could conduct a fruitless search through her place, just in case I’d left it there during The Cruise discussion on Wednesday night. I hadn’t. Much hysterical mad-poopy searching continued back at my place, until I finally found it under the $2 shop cotton reels I’d tossed onto my bedside table after putting some dodgy finishing touches on Dolly’s birthday dress (see Then I ponied up for an entry pass for Sprog 2’s identical best friend and Husband on the website. And we were good to go. I supervised Sprog 2 and her little doppleganger friend on the kiddie rides – much preferential treatment was offered to the little blondies at the hot chip stand by a fascinated server, free iced water delivered to our table and everything – while Husband endured nine rides on The Ranger with the older members of our party. Then we tottered nauseously back to the cars and headed home. The Festival of the Birthday had drawn to a close for another year. Spoilt? My lot? Noooooo!

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