Today was my youngest child’s birthday. She is a whole five years old…FIVE! She is my baby girl…and I can not believe that she is starting kindergarten this Fall. She is such a big girl and yet she is still so small. But the diva in her was well and truly in residence today – not in a bad way. “I am the birthday princess today!” was the most used statement. Those were the first words out of her mouth this morning when she groggily opened her eyes. She said it again with a smile when she walked down the stairs and saw the presents in the living room and the huge helium singing Disney princesses balloon. That is the day she wanted – a day of Disney Princesses. All of them: Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Belle, Snow White, Jasmine (her favorite) and Ariel. Birthday Princess was just a little upset though that Mulan was not included in the princess lineup. Not my fault that one and probably a topic for a whole other blog.

So Hubby took the day off from work to spend it with the family. Talking of family, our immediate family is thousands of miles away and so we have to go the extra mile to make days like birthdays a little more special – to be honest though, even if the family were living next door, we would still go that extra mile! The girls had their swimming lessons today and Hubby went with to watch. Oh my goodness, the girls swam like dolphins, showing off all their learned aquatic skills to the proud father standing broad chested on the shore of the pond.

Swimming was followed by an unprecedented week day hour or so of Wii. At this stage mom retired to the master boudoir complete with eye mask and ear plugs and rested for a while. We went after my nap to Birthday Princess’s daycare for her party there. She was joined by two former students, my eldest and the Hubby. We had cake and juice and then it happened. I have heard rumors of this happening before but have never witnessed it with my own eyes and today I had that experience. But first, the cake was delicious – vanilla cake decorated to perfection complete with the Disney Princesses dancing around the frosting between the gorgeous edible flowers (Mulan was missing again – do I see a pattern here?)

And then it happened…

C.I.H.

Cake Induced Hysteria…

Symptoms: 

• running giggling uncontrollably around the tree
• running laughing playing catch
• running chuckling during a game of duck duck goose
• waving gymnastic ribbons in a frenzied run around the lawn

Something interesting though…the symptoms affect all people of different ages. The kids were between the ages of 2 and 11 but there was one grown up who was wildly affected: Hubby…

Hubby ran with the ribbons…did his best to imitate the Olympic gymnasts who will wow us all in a few days…he grabbed the little flags and “flew” across the yard…that action even made the Blue Jays sit up and take notice…oh the acts he whipped out were many and varied…helicopters (he lifted himself off the ground much to the delight of the children) – I can not even remember all them. All of them induced by cake!

The girls sat down to dinner tonight and we did the usual questioning: what was your favorite part of your day?

Birthday Princess went first: “Opening Presents and daddy coming to watch my swimming!”

Eldest daughter was next: “Birthday Princess waking me up this morning so that she could get to her presents and dad coming to watch my swimming!”

Then Hubby: “Watching the girls swimming and playing outside in the garden with the girls and their friends during the afternoon party…”

And me? My favorite part of the day…it is difficult to decide but probably two bits. One was watching the Princess’s face as she opened her presents from all around the world. And second…Hubby playing in the backyard…Today let me tell you, there was nothing angry in this African!

…but not buses that you would think…not the public transport buses…not the red double decker buses I  so loved to see in London…not the yellow school buses…Not those buses – those are just fine. Except of course for that one red double decker in London that soaked me by deliberatelydriving through a puddle at the side of the road causing a tidal wave of grimy city street water covering me and my white trousers one summer…yes…Mr bus driver…your laughing face I will never forget.

But aside from that bus, I have no other qualms about buses. Except that one illusive bus that seems to target one place and only make one dramatic stop…my house. I try to keep my house clean and tidy…I really do try but just when I think I am winning the battle this bus stops by when I am not looking and delivers a blow to my house equivalent to a small atomic bomb. I have gone from clear dining room and clean table to a paperwork nightmare. I work through the paperwork and find foam stickers all over the phone bill and a little stick princess drawn neatly in pink and purple on the car insurance document.

So I went downstairs to the playroom in the basement. I thought that this past weekend I would spend some time, a few hours or so, cleaning up and sorting out our own branch of Toys ‘r’ us. Everything back in its own container. I was doing well. Some of the toys were sorted and we made a pile for charity and a pile for keeping and the pile for disposal. I moved containers and vacuumed. And then while sweating in the humidity of the day I moved this little container in the very far corner of the basement…the one section where there is no carpet and there it was…staring at me from the dark corner…I could hear it laughing at me while the music that filled my ears was reminiscent of the Bates Motel. Mould…yip I said it. MOULD! I stepped back gasping for air. OMG I have NEVER had mould in my house but I was armed. I marched upstairs and grabbed my spray bottle of bleach.

M (I can’t bring myself to say the word anymore) was waiting for me at the OK Corral laughing at me as I slowly walked forward my eyes fixed on its little green spores which my by now X-ray vision could see in the dark. I flicked the switch on my torchlight and made contact with the dark monster which squirmed in the bright beam. My palm was sweaty as I reached for my weapon. I lifted the bottle and pushed back the trigger. M was no match for me…I drenched it and then waited patiently for the small spot to dry. The next step was my trusty hepa filter vacuum dream machine which made M shake in fear as it was sucked into the sealed container and disposed of.

“I’ll be your Huckleberry!”

Confident in my ability, this Wyatt Earp slowly walked through the rest of the room and found no more. Clearly my reputation preceded me. Harriet had then phoned me about an unrelated topic (her almost six year is getting a BIG tooth!) and upon hearing my story offered some more heavy weapons in my battle. About three hours later I plugged the dehumidifier into the wall and fired it up. No more humidity! What a relief. The machine worked long and hard all night and by morning, the playroom was a totally different place – mould free and clean smelling and DRY!

Of course, that took care of the green bus downstairs but oh the first floor was hit today and with a force! The devastation was widespread – as far as the eye can see. A broad path of destruction that when I looked again had moved upstairs like a stealth hurricane…

So tomorrow is my daughter’s fifth birthday but I will NOT allow her to have a birthday in an untidy house. So wish me luck as I venture off and tackle this horror…oh the horror! I might not be as skilled as Martha Stewart (or an employer of many staff like her) but I can sure as bob dismantle a bus in my sleep…

A while ago, my eldest daughter turned 11. Eleven! OMG where has all the time gone! But this post is not about how big she is now, and connected to that, how old I am getting (or am!). So fret not, I am not having a middle-age crisis right now – I will save that for another day.

On the day of her birthday, it was a school day, I decided as I do with every birthday, to cook the special dinner. I planned the menu, all of her favorites: Roast pork loin, roast potatoes, chocolate bread and butter pudding, etc. etc. etc…. The table in the dining room had to be laid properly – white linen, good dinner ware and decorations. We have a chandelier type light fitting so I thought of hanging pink and lilac balloons on silver ribbon from that, with pink tulle on the table and pink flowers. Very pretty. I had everything except the pink balloons. No crisis there – before baking the birthday cake and making the pudding, I could nip to the craft store, pick up the pink balloons and the ribbon.

11:00am – hop in the car and dart off to the craft store. I wonder through the birthday section, the wedding section both with no joy in finding pink balloons. I look in the baby section but only find pink ones emblazoned with “It’s a Girl!”. Well, I know she is a girl – she has been in my house for 11 years, so those will not do. I asked the assistants for help – it took me ten minutes just to do this – they were deeply involved in their conversation about another assistant who was having boyfriend issues involving an ex, a police cruiser and an amount of bail money. Finally, the assistants looked at me, the mother with the last minute list of to-do things (clearly to them I am a bad planner) and told me indignantly that they do not sell balloons. Technically they do (It’s a girl/boy and Congratulations graduate) but they don’t.

No panic yet, a major toy store is just across the parking lot. Run in there and dash to the party section. Invitations, wrapping paper, party favors, streamers, cake toppers, ribbons but NO BALLOONS.

“So how can I help you today?” I turned around startled at the over-friendliness of the question to find the trainee assistant manager beaming at me – his double chin vibrating with the sheer anticipation of being of assistance to me – the by now, panic stricken, clock watching, clearly disorganised mother of the birthday girl.

“Hi, I am looking for pink balloons…” I gasped with eagerness in my voice and a look of hope on my face.

“I love your accent, which part of England are you from?” he said with an air of authority. I sighed, this was going to take longer than I thought and for some or other reason, I did not opt to humor him and pretend I was an Oxford native – which I normally do to get out A.S.A.P. No this time I corrected the offender.

“Actually, I am from South Africa.  Balloons?”

“Oohhh, I have not been down to those parts in a long time.”

Those parts? Really? 

Instead I asked when trainee manager had been there last.

“I can’t tell you…” Why?

“I was there with, ah, I really should not tell you this…” and then a deep whisper…”special ops…”

OMG, when?

“1985!” he blurted… “this is all classified you know…we were training the military in that area to help combat the drug running ships on the south coast…”

I remained silent by mouth but my mind was screaming…Oh, bollocks! I lived on the South Coast and there was no massive drug running operations taking place. Sure we had some poachers in the seas but in the 80’s South Africa practically only new marijuana, no real hard stuff.  I looked at him knowingly…

“Surely, you mean you were in special ops in South America? I am from South Africa?” waiting with relief at his acknowledgement of his error. But he was insistent…

“No, South Africa…the military was assisting their military…”

Look pal…you are mistaken…but I pressed further…

So what did your ops entail?

“Oh, that is classified, I can’t tell…”

Oh, if you do, will you have to kill me…I eyed his price scanner with scepticism, it could do the job but would make an awful mess here amongst the spiderman and barbie party goodies…

“We helped them capture boats, confiscate drugs and arrest the runners…”

Classified hey? I said to him with a slow nod.

“Yes, very…” he said

Ah-ha…but do you have pink birthday balloons?

“Oh, no, sorry we are out of stock…but I do have, ‘It’s a girl’ ones!”

Mission impossible.  I smiled, thanked him for all the classified information and left the store…I could tell you what I was thinking, but then I would have to kill you.