A party planner, I am not. Happily, unequivocally, hand on heart'edly. I am more than happy to fork over fricking ridiculously large amounts of The Husbands hard earned cash for my children to celebrate parties at Lollipops, Laser Strike, Rock Climbing or any other activity that charges $30 per head for 1.5 hours of "fun", a plateful of dodgy chicken nuggets, some stale looking fairy bread, and a jug of watered down cordial.
But some treacherous, malevolent evil wormed its way into my brain a few weeks ago, when I had the delightful idea of doing it myself this year. And really, the Husband will be cool with my use of the singular here, promise you.
I'm not sure if this happened because the memories have dimmed of my eldest's 4th birthday party at home, with too many kids who were bored, and too many adults who stayed, and a home made Thomas the Tank Engine cake with waaaaaay too much food colouring/icing, and too much rain.
Regardless, tomorrow is my Smith's 6th birthday party, and keeping it
I think we'll be able to fill in 40 minutes tops with my activities, I'm not sure how long I'll keep up my Bear Grylls impersonation, and nope The Husband didn't offer to step in to do that either, nor what we'll then do in the forecasted rain/storms, but all I know is it's 3 hours in my life that I want to make a bloody memorable 3 hours in his and his wee mates.
More to come soon...but you knew there would be.