Hostess with the mostess

“I don’t know how you come up with something to say every single day on the blog,” a friend said last night as we sat on her couch drinking mango-infused vodka.

(Mango-infused vodka really is the most remarkable thing: you slice up a fresh mango and put it in a jug in the fridge, covered with vodka, the fruit infuses the spirit and – conversely – the spirit probably infuses the fruit. We’re plotting cocktails to put it to the test next time we catch up. For tips on how to infuse your booze, click here.)

Ironically, of course, that’s the precursor to me NOT having something to say today on the blog … because I was too busy going for a night walk and gabbing with friends and drinking their delightful mango vodka and then having to get to work by 7am this morning …

So – rather than musing about all the ways being 47 annoys me, damn, I bet you’re totally devo – I’m going to revisit the party I threw for the nine-year-old when she turned eight.

Just to enhance my hostess with the mostess reputation.

The youngest’s winter wonderland party was a hit.

For my own sanity, I probably should have skipped the pre-party pump class, but if I had my gym instructor wouldn’t have been able to give me the excellent tip on creating a snowman’s head for the birthday cake.

I woke up on Sunday morning stricken by the fact something was missing from the cake. A 7am trip to IGA yielded a packet of marshmallows, but I still couldn’t see how I’d magically turn them into a serviceable snowman.

Cue the gym instructor – the most divine Dutch woman who, if I decided to turn and she wasn’t the hetero mother of two small children, I would definitely go for – flicking through her iPhone and showing me some marshmallow skewers she made for her son’s birthday party with paper toppers.

I raced home, Googled “snowman heads” and VOILA! Magic was made … (the picture doesn’t show up the fact the little creatures are skating on a pond of melted candy)

Unfortunately I messed with the magic by scorching the youngest’s scalp with the crimping iron … nothing quite like making your kid cry an hour before their birthday party … but upon seeing how awesome her sister looked like with kinky hair she decided to return to her seat on the kitchen stool for another attempt.

(I swear, it wasn’t my idea to crimp, they begged. The youngest reckoned it was an essential accompaniment to her rock star gold birthday jeans.)

Then I threw 16 goodie bags into the boot (click here to see the contents), nestled the finished cake on the eldest’s lap and hooned off to Macquarie Ice Rink for the par-tay.

It went like a dream. Wobbly ice skating lessons for all the sproglettes, Pizza Hut pizza at the halfway mark, and a spot more skating …

How’d your Monday night unfold?

Song of the day: The Proclaimers “I would walk 500 miles”