Frazzled working momma has one of her worryingly frequent 'moments' a month ago and thinks that a double 9th birthday party for twinnies at home, in October, is a good idea. FWM resorts to grass cutting with a post-christening hangover and to washing windows in the dark, because let's face it, they are the type of things 9 year old guests remember. She hopes they notice the freshly cleaned drains too and that the tomato sauce on the penne pasta is home made.
Thoughtful friend offers to drop his uber funky caravan into garden to up the party cool stakes.
FWM forgets that she promised to make birthday cake with children and settles for two slabs of chocolate something or other from LidlDaLDI.
She vows never to allow herself be distracted again, chatting to an old friend in Dealz, while the children stock up on SEVENTY FIVE FLIPPING EURO worth of shite, including cheap and nasty chocolate that will ruins any goodness acquired in the home made tomato sauce.
FWM wonders where the hell the magician is going to fit in the Hobbit House, with a capacity audience. She hopes that he isn't cutting a woman in half.
She spends the week dusting and cleaning and replacing real cobwebs with synthetic ones. The children are beyond excited, lie on the floor in the path of the woman with a mop, refuse to sleep before 11pm any night for a week and are like divils to FWM, who tries not to take it personally.
She concedes that she won't get all of the cleaning done after all and will, instead, draw the blinds on the bedroom windows (bloody bungalow) and shove stuff into drawers.
Have the kids revised for their 'really, really' important test in school tomorrow? Hell, no. Outfits sorted for Fancy Dress Day on Friday? As if ...... And of course there's no wine. She'll settle for a chocolate eyeball from a party bag, as she cries into her cold tea and types on her keyboard, avoiding floors to be washed so that children can trample wet grass into it tomorrow...
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