I am reliably informed that, being part Dutch and all, and given that the Dutch (apparently) celebrate their birthdays for a week, that it is reasonable, nay, vital to her sense of well-being, that Mym, in keeping with her heritage, gets to do the same.
There's something specious about this argument, that I can't... quite.... nail.
Have I mentioned that parties, in particular the prospect of parties, make me Incredibly Stressed?
So anyway, this weekend, Lucky Mummy got to the do the whole thing again, this time with an army of 12 year olds (well, five, but they were off their heads with excitement, and it felt like an army), and yet another birthday cake. Now it's 2am, my backyard is 3 feet under in crazy string, the house is trashed, the dog nearly had a nervous breakdown and had to be air-lifted to his Nanny's, and the kids are (mostly) passed out in the lounge room. Or possibly in a helium-induced coma. It's hard to tell.
But there was no blood. Or tears. And I call that a success.
The lotus candle was an interesting find. It comes closed. You light the candles, it boinks open, and plays the most appalling, demented rendition of Happy Birthday....for all Eternity, as far as we could tell. We'll never know; in desperation we were obliged to take a hammer to it. We were also obliged to sing Happy Birthday in the World's Most Inappropriate Key, which made us sound like chipmunks, but anyway....
It looked pretty.
And Birthday Week is officially over, as of now.
I'll drink to that.
