We strung balloons along the table and bunting in the trees. A large floral blanket covered the paltry grass, which was still recovering from the brutal vicissitudes of last winter. Like the blossom on the surrounding trees, the excitement was tangible. Green party plates and white paper cups stacked neatly on the table; it did look pretty – and so thought our children.
They pointed animatedly at the colourful decoration and exclaimed with glee as we lined up the drinks. Previously unknown quantities of apple juice and breadsticks were unveiled before them and they were allowed to take as much as they liked; something special was happening, though they were not sure quite what. That didn’t matter.
We commended ourselves on our decision to invite friends to the park to celebrate my birthday, having thought the children – ours and other people’s – would have a much happier time there rather than curtailed in a stuffy cafe where mashing food into the floor, kicking a ball, or throwing sticks are all generally frowned upon. Our gamble on Spring was paying off, and chilled, but not frozen, we revelled in our children’s laughter and waited for the first guests to arrive.
Then, for all the afternoon’s joyful promise, as people slowly gathered to drink up their apple juice and dilute our rapt attention, the children became dejected and lodged themselves firmly on our hips. Other children played happily under the alternating watchful eyes of their non-host parents, but ours – perhaps anxious if they were not attached to us they would receive no attention at all – refused.
We still had a lovely time, of course, there under the trees, talking to friends and tucking into large slabs of birthday cake, and the children were only mildly sulky, not miserable. But it is a contrast that sticks with me, days after my birthday – the children’s initial explosion of bliss followed by arm-aching whinging. The moral of this tale? And I will be sure to write this into the plans for the children’s May birthday: to strictly limit the number of adults (and children) to only those we see very frequently and owe no long conversation to. It will be a day for complete devotion.
stillsonaive 