Ten months in the planning and lists about lists – my daughter was organising the party of the year. She’s at the awkward age of 8 – too old to go to the normal kids’ play type of places and too young to pretty much do anything else, so when we moved into a bigger house last year, she had already determined that this would be the venue for POTY.

Twenty kids were invited to a daytime festival and afterwards – stage 2, aka the Sleepover, would commence and only 6 worthy enough would qualify.


As Sods’ Law dictates, after a week of cold but clear days, the heavens opened and lashed down ALL day. Yes, seemingly, I was a teensy tiny bit deranged to think that they would be able to play outside on the newly erected adventure set and mahoosive bouncey castle and not need to step foot inside my nice clean house. If I kept drinks to the minimum, they wouldn’t even need the loo.

Within 5 minutes of the kids arriving there were soaking wet socks strewn all over the garden, wet bums aplenty and children tap, tap, tapping me and informing me that their knickers were wet. One poor girl was in hysterics because one boy had called her a lesbian – cue me having to halt proceedings and using my mummy voice to sternly inform all party-goers as to why bullying and name calling is just plain wrong and that it is absolutely not to happen again. Also, anyone wishing to know what the word lesbian actually means were invited to come and see me in the kitchen. I had 5 visits.


Whenever my kids get invited to a party I go with them, always, and not just for the egg butties. Of course it won’t always be like that but whilst they are young, that’s the deal. I just wouldn’t feel comfortable just pushing them in the front door and running off for two hours of shopping, or sex (come on, we know you do!) Out of the 20 kids invited, 1, count them, 1 parent stayed and only because she was one of my best friends. Bloody cheek, but that’s another post altogether.

Once phase 1 was over and done with, calm was restored for a little while. My wonderful friend, Denise, had a genius idea of giving the Sleepover 7 a princess pamper session. All you need to know is that it consisted of some scrummy Body Shop make-up and lots and lots of glitter type products, oh and some mocktails too! Another friend, Amy, arrived to paint fingernails and while they were being entertained I flicked through the catalogue and imagined a life where the products in my bathroom were just mine and no one else’s.




Nightime at last and although the girls were all looking supercute and adorable in their onesies they were all, quite frankly, tap dancing on my last nerve. Each one vying for Alpha female status, trying to command the rest of the pack. They couldn’t agree on what movie to watch. They argued that I had, mistakenly, put one piece of extra popcorn in someone else’s bowl. They argued over where each would sleep. They argued about what time they would wake up. Every 20 minutes I would have an Oscar winning, Gwyneth style, hysterical child crying onto my shoulder over some ridiculous reason. They were all meant to be the best of friends for god’s sake. After a particularly heart wrenching incident (someone had told my daughter that it was the ‘worst party ever’) I was very close to phoning the parents to just come and get them. One incident, though, changed all that.

It unnerved me slightly that things went eerily quiet and then, an eruption. Belly laughing a-plenty, uncontrollable giggling, tears rolling down the cheeks. It could only mean one thing.

Someone had farted.

I’ve known all of the kids for nearly 4 years now and the signs of hormonal induced power struggles were already evident throughout the whole 24 hours. I forgot just how much hard work it is to be a kid but I realised, also, how difficult it is to be a parent. To know what’s going on at all times but react only when needed is not an easy skill to master. When all of her friends had gone home, she was tired and sad it was all over but she told me what an awesome time she had and what a brilliant mum I was.

Kofi Annan has heard about my efforts and friend requested me. 😉

[stextbox id=”tmk-box”]Book Princess parties  HERE or order something just for you. [/stextbox]

Think big and reach for the stars,

Vix x

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