Since our first child was born 51/2 years ago, my husband and I have been to roughly 3,450 birthday parties. Or at least that is what it feels like. Not that we have anything against birthday parties. In theory, what's not to love? Fun games, yummy cake. Most are lots of fun for the children and an opportunity for parents to socialise, too.
However, some weekends it seems we spend most of our waking moments, on both Saturday and Sunday, at a birthday party. We could, of course, say no occasionally. But it never seems right somehow. I know my son is always very nearly heartbroken if any friend of his can't make any of his parties. So if we are free, it seems wrong not to go.
Fortunately, most parties are close to home. We have attended about 2,000 parties in our community's clubhouse. It's a popular birthday party venue. Our children are very familiar with its bouncy castle. They throw their shoes off before we've even made it through the entrance. The carefully wrapped present and card are shoved at the birthday child, and they then run off to join the other 298 children already jumping on it.
Getting them off it to eat the standard spaghetti bolognaise and tuna fish sandwiches they always serve is nearly impossible. The only thing guaranteed to get them off it is the usually dramatic and loud arrival of the clown. We have seen the same clown perform about 500 times, although our children never seem to recognise him. His magic tricks always make the children laugh. Everyone is always desperate to volunteer for the next trick, and there is always a line of chattering children waiting for balloon animals. One clown spent half an hour transforming balloons into scooters, umbrellas and other quite remarkable creations.