Suitably over-the-top cake ordered?
Check.
Balloons blown up, banners unfurled, party poppers on stand by?
Check.
Badly-handwritten paper invitations handed out to everyone else in the class?
Check.
Jelly made, ice cream frozen, sausage rolls heated through?
Check. Check. And check.
It’s hard to believe, I know. It seemed like only yesterday we were being welcomed into the world and taking our first tentative steps. But yes, it’s true…
Tomango is five years old!
From 9 o’clock when the day starts, we’ll be bouncing around the studio getting increasingly worked up and over-excited, annoying the neighbours and constantly asking the more senior members of the team “when’s everyone coming?”
At 11.15, Hula Hoops, Pringles, chocolate fingers, party rings, and the cucumber and carrot batons and houmous that gets eaten by no-one except the weird quiet kid get put into brightly coloured plastic bowls.
At 11.30, everyone arrives and all hell breaks loose. The next two hours are the longest in your parenting life, and you wonder where the suave, cool, hip young dude you used to be has disappeared off to.
By 1.45 it’s all over, and the last of the little darlings has been picked up (it really grates that all these other parents have just had a blissful two hours without their evil offspring, they’ve probably gone to the pub, the bastards).
At 5.30, we’ll do the equivalent of getting ready for bed, leaving a pile of presents on the floor and no idea who brought what.
In three weeks’ time, we’ll be sending out thank you cards to everyone. Sorry if we mix up what we did for you, or what you did for us…
I knew we should have made a note of who gave us what.