Children make best party poopers
ANOTHER party invitation has arrived today.
This one is beautifully hand-calligraphed, scheduled for three Saturdays from now and luckily it won’t clash with the other event that day; or the ones next weekend; or the two the weekend after that.
It is party season after all, and the parties come fast.
But of course none of these invitations are for me. They’re for the kids.
It’s a sad but inevitable day when you realise your child’s social life is much busier than your own.
As I RSVP on the children’s behalf, I am forever Mumderella, driving the pumpkin people-mover to primaryaged parties but left to look on as the youngsters have a ball.
I’m told – as with almost all parenting challenges, bar toilet training – things get worse come the teenage years.
Typically, you spend a Saturday dinner party worrying about your 15-year-old at a party, without even alcohol to calm your nerves because you have to leave early to pick them up.