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Catie wasn’t well and had spent the morning in bed and the rest of us were having a pyjama day (well not me, I’d already done two dog walks by this stage). At lunch she suddenly checked our diary and let out an expletive. We - for “we" read “I” - had forgotten that Phoebe was going to a birthday party today. It was about ten miles away and had already been going for an hour and only had an hour more to run. Had we realised twenty minutes later then we’d have had to accept we/I had fucked up and that Phoebe could not go to the ball/soft play area. But there was time for us to get Phoebe dressed and for me to get her in the car and get to the party for the last 50 minutes.
Which I did. Because I am a hero. Just because I also didn’t realise there was a party because I don’t check my diary on Saturday (or any day as I have no appointments) that doesn’t make me not a hero. I am a hero and everyone loves me.
We got there in time for Phoebe to have 4 minutes of soft play before everyone sat down for their food. But at least we’d made it and aside from being a bit put out that she’d not had a proper go on the impressive apparatus I think she was happy.
This kind of high-octane action is all part of being a dad. Though there was a big chunk of my lazy Saturday gone, sitting next to shell-shocked looking parents who I am guessing couldn’t believe how long the Christmas holidays are and were wondering when school starts again. It’s Tuesday apparently. Why must we wait so long? Why? Not even Monday cos they teachers are having a special day without kids, which I imagine involves vodka, marijauna and sex. But I imagine that pretty much everything that I am not involved in involves that.
If we’d been any later to the party it would definitely not have been worth coming to and it was a shame we missed half of it. But I am an optimist so like to think we had half a party rather than missed half a party. And it was a bit of variety in my day of parenting.
I am looking forward to the time when the kids are of the age where you can take them to a party and then leave them there. It’s like one of the parents has elected to become the babysitter for everyone else. And they are paying for the privilege. This only works as a win if you never have a party for your own kids.
And I never will.
