High fives all round please; I have survived my first ever teen party.
J asked, some time ago, if he could have his 13th birthday party at our house. I was quietly chuffed - I have only known him since he was 9 years old and for him to choose to spend his birthday at our house is a huge thing for me. It helps that he adores his dad but, you know what, he kinda loves me too. He tells me everything (even phones to chat on a regular basis), laughs at all my gags (!) and appreciates my baking. It could have been a very different story and I am grateful that he is such a sweetie.
The party went very well - the kids were polite and surprisingly chatty. They disappeared off to the park together and came back for pizza, ice cream and pink lemonade. I was not a bit perturbed by the fact that my oven ran out of gas just two hours before they all arrived and scuppered my plans to rustle up some delicious food and cakes (argggh). We just got takeout pizza from Pizza Hut: minor crisis averted.
OK so I may have been checking my watch every five minutes. I might have been hovering by the dining room like an over-attentive butler. When they disappeared into J's room for the last half an hour to [their words] bitch and gossip, I don't mind admitting that if we'd had a trampoline I probably would have dragged it underneath the bedroom window so that I could bounce up and peer in every now and then. (Nonchalantly, of course, perhaps with a cloth in my hand.) I had nothing to worry about and J was slightly breathless with excitement when the last of his friends had gone home and he announced that it had been really cool and would it be OK to have his party at our house next year. I told him that of course it was OK! Anyone got a trampoline for sale?
The oven breaking down wasn't the only minor crisis chez nous this week: a baby dove fell down the bedroom chimney on Friday lunchtime. I was working from home when I heard an almighty clatter from the bedroom. I was half-expecting to see a dazed pigeon on the grate but thankfully there is plate-thingy that has been put into the gap to stop (I guess) drafts and unwanted objects falling into the fireplace. The bird was sitting on said plate, literally a foot from the grate. When I laid on the floor and peered into the chimney breast it just blinked at me quite serenely.
Husband was at work and wouldn't be home for hours. There was no way in the world I was rescuing the bird. So I improvised and got back to work.
A picnic blanket over the fireplace held down by candles and my shoes meant that if the plate did become loose the bird would be in a confined space. The dog kept watch.
When Andrew came home he was able to slip underneath the makeshift curtain and perform the rescue mission with minimal disruption.
(In retrospect, I realise that it wasn't ever so helpful of me to hang around taking photos but Andrew didn't complain.) The bird is slightly scuffed and spent the night in a box in the shed to get over the shock. It has flown away now but popped back over the weekend for its dins and to say hi.
It has been a week of minor dramas really what with one thing and another. I think I have had a troubled mind and I've been more high maintenance than usual, I know. I have had three very vivid nightmares this week and I always feel really shaken the following day. I woke up this morning just as I was about to cry in my dream; I actually woke up with that crumpled 'I'm-about-to-wail' face on. I don't feel at all rested, poor me.
I need to lie in a dark room with a cold flannel on my forehead.
Before I go I must just say hello to my new followers: hi! I do hope that I haven't put you off with today's offering.
New followers always mean interesting new blogs for me to read so I'm thrilled to meet you. I am loving this blogworld I've been welcomed into, everyone is so friendly, helpful and funny. It cheers me right up on a bad day and makes a good day even better.
Love and all that soppy stuff.