Toddler Party Do

Birthdays. I do not remember when I last really celebrated mine or even ‘wanted’ to celebrate it. You hit the 30’s and it is mostly about the company of moderately priced alcohol and sympathetic friends.

Flash forward to Dec 8th 2010 and organizing a three something toddler’s party single handed. What does a posse of tots eat? Er do they eat at all? I contemplated handing crepe paper decorations as hors d oeuvres. If the kids were anything like the one I was familiar with, they would devour them in all shades.


I consulted the man-in-charge

Me: What would you like at your party
V: Mummum (food)

Me (sinking feeling): Er food? Okay….what else
V: Cake

Me: Of course, what kind?
V: Chocolate Chocolate Chocolate………..
(Devious manipulative mother pre-programmed kid to like her fav kind)

Me: Done, what shape?
V: Fish

Me: Fish?
V: Fish Fish Fish Fish………………..

So I downloaded fish designs, I made fishy invites, I cut out shapes that were definitely fishy – their fins were missing. Heck I even had a dot the eye of a fish game and a welcome sign on shiny blue paper that said DIVE IN.

I pondered flicking the Naval Ball paraphernalia which did indeed have a mermaid theme. Gave up on it when I realised the venue might be under surveillance.

I am not sure if the kids were impressed with my decoration efforts but the mums chaperoning them were. YAY!
Until one mum commented how strange my fish looked. BOOOO.

The mad rush for appropriate return gifts, the painful packing and marking, the guest list in a state of flux….all ok, all calm – until the caterer went fishing, the baker went hiking, the food didn’t quite put in an appearance and the thirty something small guests did ;(

Another mad rush to make teeny pizzas and teenier idlies, along with a LOT of hollering, a lot of driving and what can only be politely termed as a near nervous breakdown.

Well, the cake eventually put in an appearance. I was so thrilled I promptly stole the gems before the kids had a go at it. Hell I had paid for the damned thing in more ways than one.

I cleverly deputed two super sweet mom friends to cut more fish shapes for a treasure hunt game. But that never materialized - I was too busy fending off kids in much the same the average Somalian fends off persistent flies)

Kid: Aunty Balloon dedo! Dedo na Dedo na..DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDO DEOD DOEDO DEDO (holding on to my leg)

Kid 2: Aunty bubble soap chaiyye
(had bubble soap solution all over the place so kids could blow...well bubbles duh!)

Kid 3: Aunty apke paas hindi music nahin hai kya?
I was playing rock and roll much to the chagrin of assorted mummies. (Ladies, I didn't have the time to organise the Lil' Mermaid OST!!)

Kid 4: Yes aunty!!!! Aunty Sheela ki Jawaani!!

AAAAAAAAAAARGH!

Organising a birthday party with husband AWOL and in-laws frantically trying to reschedule flights to get to Sri Lanka Vs 20 laps in the pool + 5 games of squash + 8 km hike through unexplored territory + doing a 1500 word dissertation. That’s a no-brainer bubba!

As for V, he was too busy kissing the girls and eating cake……. my boy..sigh.

BOOKS I AM (TRYING TO) READ
Starting today, precisely at 9.45 PM after V knocks off, I am getting back on track...to hell with the Defence Services Staff College jigs and all the script writing i have been stuck doing. "I am retiring while I am at the top' - QUOTE UNQUOTE my squash partner. Reading 'Duma Key' (Stephen King) - King and I share a love, hate relationship and I CANNOT seem to end it. Want to re-read Mrs Craddock and Razor's Edge (Maugham), The World is Flat (left it midway a couple of months ago)., Shantaram which I have gotta return to Annie, Memoirs of my Father, gadzillion blogs..........my list is infinite - waittaminute that CAN'T be called a list at all...hm

Men Get a Taste of It!

DWellington!

We landed in Coimbatore - in anticipation of a pleasant meandering drive that would afford us fabulous views and even more fabulous opportunities to make our less blessed pals feel suitably jealous.

So, of course, the car did not arrive. It couldn’t - because our carefully laid plans had to go waste. I mean, what is the point of all that planning unless you indulge in a spot of self-commiseration?

Our car stayed stubbornly in the car carrier that had apparently been whisked off the face of the planet by forces unknown. All attempts to contact the aforesaid carrier having failed, we comforted ourselves with the thought that our car was getting the fabulous ’ride’ with a view from the exosphere thrown in for good measure.

Being the means to further intergalactic ties made us uncomplainingly bear the brunt of the merciless C sun, haggle with cranky cabbies and finally set off to Conoor. and then onwards to the Defence Services Staff College (Aka DSCC).

Arrive we did as did a weird demand – the driver demanded three dollars. Hmm…was the esteemed staff college a country upon itself, did it have its own government, its own currency and its own strange language, I marveled.

Apparently it was the latter.Three Dollars = Three Bottles. Bottles of Pril? Unfortunately not.

We, as faujis or navellas, who for all purposes sail on rivers of rum, bath in beer and wallow in whisky should act as benefactors, sharing our god given bounty with dhobis, gardeners and drivers alike. That was an unwritten albeit forced rule that we were being inculcated into. And as students are wont to do, we broke the rule.

We have been parting with hard cash and parting with gardeners ever since. Well meaning folk advise me to bottle up my feelings about the dollar but honestly this parallel currency is enough to make me take to the bottle.

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You know you are Dwelling in Wellington when

• Saris are de’ riguer - but can never really expects Mrs Navy and Mrs Airforce to wear one


• One is supposed to cast their eyes down before the powers that be (and their better halves) lest in case they slice off your arms for dare looking up ;).


• Hobby classes like flower making and cutlery setting are what marks out the lady from the badminton raquet toting, hike-loving rabble (which for the moment only consists of me).


• Cocktail Parties are all about empty conversations and emptier tummies. And to think of the precious minutes spent dolling up for that!


• The handwritten applications is the way to go, the computer is apparently only for student officers to check the LAN.


• Every officer is a golfer or to put it more accurately wants to play golf.


• Every Mrs Officer wants to learn SOMETHING at Wellington (to keep their husbands' company or do I smell the desperation of boredom?) Honestly, why don’t you just enjoy the ‘salubrious climes’ ladies?

We always seem to be going in 'semi-circles' (Syndicate parties anyone) and never full circle, but it is all so very gorgeous, it doesn’t really matter.