Party Pooper

Today has been a long day.  My normal plan for a Sunday is a couple of drinks with my parents over lunch followed by a bottle of wine or two with my husband over the course of the afternoon and evening.  It is 5.55pm and I am nil-alcohol by mouth. BORRRRRRRRRING.  I've had two and a half weeks of lazing around in bed until past 9 every day and now the school holidays have come abruptly to an end.  I'm even working on a Monday tomorrow (ugh - and will do every Monday from June!) so I thought it would be good to give myself a fighting chance of sleeping tonight and getting up tomorrow morning by staying sober today!  On the same track, I thought when I woke at 8.15 this morning, I'd better not roll over and have another hour but instead I hauled myself out of bed and went for a run!  On a Sunday!  Just in case any of you ever feel like trying the same, I will tell you now, don't bother - it is seriously not worth it.  By the time I'd got to the end of the road I'd realised that yesterday evening's diet of pizza and champagne had not supplied me with the fuel I needed to successfully exercise.

I was cross-examined by both my father and my husband over my weird decision of a lime cordial with lunch.  To add, insult to injury, I then spent over two hours at a children's party this afternoon; totally sober.  I don't really do kids' parties.  I find other small children, as a rule, generally quite annoying.  Luckily with Zak I have never had to accompany him.  I did the accepted run of parties with him while he was in Reception and the minute he hit Year 1, I dumped and ran.  With his blessing, I hasten to add; he had no desire to have his bossy-teacher-mum embarrassing him any longer in front of his friends.

No such luck with Sebi.  I had been gently suggesting for the past 24 hours that he might be absolutely fine to be left on this own at this particular party.  He said that he was sure that he would but he would have more fun with me there too.  I very much doubt it Sebi darling.  I upped my game a little in the car on the way to the party and said quite firmly that I would stay for five minutes and then he would be fine.  This backfired spectacularly as he then became hysterical as we rang on the doorbell that I was going to abandon him. Cue the parents of the birthday boy opening the door as I tried to throw Sebi through, whilst he yelled: 'I DON'T WANT TO GO TO THE STUPID PARTY ANYWAY.' Excellent. Hi, my name is Nikki.  Nice to meet you.

I eventually got him into the party and we sat in the corner for the first half an hour with his face buried in my neck and me watching some bloke in a lab coat not managing to get a balloon through the neck of a jar.  Oh, and did I mention, I was sober?

Sebi eventually warmed up but by this time it was not worth me vanishing so I stayed and contented myself with bollocking the naughty children.  Never invite a teacher to your party. Particularly a hungover teacher, on the waggon, on the last day of the school holidays.  I was a right fun spoiler.

One nice lady sat down to have a chat with me.  Pretty big of her I reckon considering what a miserable, unfriendly cow I am in the playground.  She told me that she was happy that there was a good balance between working mums and non-working mums and that it wasn't heavily weighted in one way or the other.  I told her that the easiest thing to do was not to give a shit about what anyone else thinks.  Cue tumbleweed.

It was a good way for me to edit Sebi's birthday party list by watching the boys in action. One particular to-remain-nameless child will most definitely never darken my door or be added to any birthday list as long as there is breath in my body.  I had a stand-off with another child as he held out his cup to me and demanded 'JUICE'.  'Juice what?' I countered approximately five times before I realised I was getting nowhere at all and therefore left it to a more tolerant parent to meet his demands instead!

I reckon I should be able to go to bed fairly soon and then Super-Sober Sunday can be replaced by No-Alcohol Monday.  At least I am used to that one.  I'm comforting myself with the thought of how pleasantly shitfaced I will be by this time next week at my parents' Ruby Wedding party.  Stu is in charge of the bar, the boys are in charge of crisps and I'm in charge of socialising.  If there was ever a recipe for a successful social event then surely that has to be it!

Sleepover

Zak has just gone off on his first ever sleepover.  The Mum was ten minutes early picking him up, thank God, as ever since it was arranged we have been crossing days off on the calendar, and since yesterday we have been counting down in minutes.  I didn't think he would be worried about staying away for the night as this child has cheerfully toddled off to childminders/pre-school/nursery/school/kids club without one backward glance, ever, at his mother.  However, all I wanted was a teeny bit of apprehension at the thought of staying in a strange house, without any member of his family present, at the tender age of seven. Not a hope.

'What's the big deal Mum?' he asked.  'I like Sam, I like his Mum, I like his Dad and I like his sister.  Why would I be scared?  I'm only taking Pooh with me to keep you happy.' Fine. Good.  At least we all know where we stand.

When this sleepover was first arranged, the younger sibling's bottom lip went out and the beginnings of a huge tantrum started to burble as Zak was doing something good and he wasn't.

'Mummy and Sebi can have their own sleepover', I pulled quickly out of my arse.  Luckily, this went down a storm with the poor deprived child with the promise of pizza out of a cardboard box in the lounge whilst watching 'Paddington'.  Oooh, we know how to live.

I've categorically told Zak that he has got a long wait before anyone comes back here for a sleepover.  I'm not having anyone here that doesn't come with a written declaration from their parents that they won't need feeding pre 9.30am and that they know how to shut the fuck up like a good 'un in the morning.  I consoled Zak with the thought that sleepovers here would be rubbish anyway and would actually lose him friends as he would still be put to bed at 7.30pm and lights would be out without a sniff of a midnight feast happening.

Sebi wouldn't want to go anywhere overnight anyway, I don't know who he's kidding.  He's just refused a play date on the grounds that he doesn't want the boy to think that he likes him more than he actually does.  God forbid eh?  Don't know where he gets it.  I had to feign deafness the other week at school when I heard him telling the teaching assistant that he did like her but obviously not as much as he liked Mrs Dawson as she was his favourite and his best friend in the world after Mummy.  Need to know basis Sebi, need to know.  Is this nature or is it learnt behaviour however?  I think he will be out Nikki-ing Nikki one day as our Easter card this year said on it: 'I have a lovely Mummy and brother.'  Poor Stu.  Apparently, a transgression from a couple of weeks earlier had meant eternal banishment from the 2015 series of Easter Sebi greetings.  What on earth have I created?