2 x BBQ's - birthday parties and yet more parenting fails (I think i made a mum friend)

 DISCLAIMER - I have attempted to highly edit my actual thoughts in case it turns out I am in fact a total bitch and we end up being friends in real life - in which case my disclaimer is invalid because this is who I am...

Firstly which you would think by now I would know better (I don't) never tell a child in advance about any potential fun that might be happening that day... since 6am this morning all I heard was is it party time, is it party time, is it time for the party, are we going to the party... well you get the jist. I'm not a morning person, I am not an incessant questions person (unless they are my own) and I really don't understand the need to pack everything we own into bags. I wrangled with the small person who attempted to do the previous, apparently we need to take her whole wardrobe, every toy she owns and all the other crap she thinks is important to go to a party. There may have been a minor falling out when I finally reached its too fucking hot and I'm not as excited as you are moment. There were tears and for the most part they were mine. Then because you know 7am is the absolutely sweet spot for dressing for a party and the going outside to play in the insane English heatwave.. we got wet and had a total meltdown that our party outfit was destroyed. There was no way she was going anywhere in what she had chosen at that point anyway and I was mildly relieved....

Is it time for the party yet, are we going to the party?

At 11.00 I finally conceded to the fact that we probably should put on clothes and attempt to look like a functioning mother daughter unit - top tip do not allow your child choice about what she wants to wear - she wanted to wear ALL of the clothes I wanted to be naked and not go to the party at all.... turns out I'm no longer the diva in this house - she wore all the clothes and had to wee 600 times before we were ready to leave. None of my clothes fit, it was too hot, and I have a serious aversion to bras... 

As punishment because I believe in justice for having to be the fun parental unit who attends and engages in birthday parties I made the husbeast drive and is as always the way we got stuck in lovely summer traffic which involves the chorus of - are we there yet, is it time for the party, are we at the party yet and I need a wee... So I'm inappropriately dressed, I am sweating from areas that as yet don't exist, I'm already fucked off about said bloody party and even in an air conditioned car I'm frankly very cross (the only thing that could have cheered me up was the prospect of Yorkshire puddings.....)

Finally we arrive and husbeast has a suspiciously pleased look on his face about not having to attend and does his smug face - I peel myself from the car seat and drag the apparently now shy small person from the car....We arrive at the most beautiful home I have ever been at, and again I may have mentioned I'm hot sweaty and annoyed and completely out of place, it's swarming with yummy mummies who all know each other and now I have a bloody limpet clinging onto my leg for dear life - which is what you want when its 28 degrees outside. Somehow, I manage to extricate said limpet and throw it in the direction of very organised play activities. I find a shady corner all by myself and proceed to count down 3 hours before we can go home. 

Now I will say this - there is nothing more uncomfortable than a random stranger in their own mind taking pity on the poor lonely mum (me) sitting alone with no friends and striking up a conversation - admittedly awkwardly. I tried to reassure the poor cow by saying I was very comfortable in my own company - but she wouldn't have it no she insisted in small talk until eventually I told her I was vegan which she clearly translated as unreasonable and left me alone.  Throughout this my child has decided to assert her personality that we all know and (love) tolerate. She’s designated herself team captain of all the games, rounded everyone up and started bossing the shit out of everyone. Someone asks me if I'm okay and when I reply this is the most peace, I've had in 4 years clearly thinks I'm joking. 

There’s an uncomfortable moment where we have to join in the hokey cokey - I DO NOT enjoy this for fun, what part of I'm sweating my tits off, I'll probably piss myself and I hate group activity do these people not understand??? I join in with gritted teeth and slink back to unpopular hate people corner.  

Then food is up - well-meaning people who clearly need the odd one in the corner to join in ask me to partake and I explain that I’m all good thanks...I'm too hot to talk about where I get my protein from blah blah blah.. Even in anti-social mood I can't catch a break. So everyone’s chowing down, including my freak child who at home cannot actually complete a whole meal, but the treacherous she devil not only consumes her offerings but asks for more...who EVEN is she???

Now you may remember I predicted that being ONE of those people was going to go one of two ways... clearly I am inexperienced in modern mumming..... what I did not anticipate was being called out - clearly well intentioned and overly considerate mum (not me) shouts out very loudly - I'm looking for *My full name here* - I want to crawl up inside myself and die, but hesitantly hold up my hand after devil child clearly identifies me - and I am presented with an anti-slimming world platter of vegan delights - overly considerate mum beams with pride - it's all vegan, I cooked it all separately I can show you the packages if you are unsure... My sweat levels increase I am embarrassed and singled out and looking at a months’ worth of calories, everyone stares at the freak plant eater... I had boob sweat going on prior to this but now I am a sopping mess of embarrassment and I cannot make eye contact. And of course, I have to be polite and smile and nod, and bloody consume every calorie ever invented because every bloody mummy is staring me down. 

Other than this intervention I manage to make it 2 whole hours without any meaningful contact. my daughter brings me a child and announces this is her very best friend ever, I am uncomfortable around small people including my own so am not sure how to make conversation with calorie laden vegan butter between my teeth so I make some half arsed comment about what a beautiful combination her rainbow tutu and welly boots are.. then of course I am the best person ever and get stuck with my devil child’s best friend for the rest of the afternoon.....

So inevitably - best friend’s mother seeks me out - oh god I must have been a very evil person in a previous life. I want to be kind (or cruel) and say she is a yummy mummy but she is clearly more insane than me, she has hair that professor Trelawny (harry potter) would be proud of, and proceeds (awkwardly) to tell me about her own social awkwardness and her entire life story (why why do I attract these people?) to which I smile and nod (I can't help myself) - before I know it I've agreed to some bloody national trust play date with mad mum and tutu welly boot wearing child. Turns out and I have no idea how the conversation got this far, we have the same profession and both our children are bossy, but because they are best friends I am now destined to spend my life with someone with hair so big she puts Monica from friends to shame.... there is some weird conversation about best friend’s mother having observed my nursery parking and had I thought about parking on the street for nursery drop off which leaves me slightly uncomfortable that I may be mad parking mum? GAHHHH now I have hot sweat, boob sweat, vegan sweat and terrible parking sweat going on... there is only one possible out - emergency come and get us text to the husbeast - I cannot get out of their fast enough...

25 minutes (I counted every single one of them) later he pitches up, I barrel the child out of there and I give our thanks to overly considerate mum before collapsing in a very air-conditioned car. Devil child cries all the way home because our house is boring... 

Husbeast has decided in typical British fashion to ignore my hyper embellished trauma and because it is the single hottest day of the year to propose a BBQ - yay two in one day *facepalm* there is some muttering (not from me) about how to cook for vegans who are dieting (it’s too late I ate my body weight in politeness... you just do your thing) and proceeds to do man chanting bonding with fire in a heatwave - cos hey why not?

Small person continues to have afternoon melt down because oh my god her life is terrible and no one loves her while pouring every soap bottle we own into the paddling pool, stripping naked and I think singing....

Mum who is also clearly very pleased she didn't have to party has spent the afternoon breaking her foot and then demands arnica cream, which she wanted me to apply but I'm not that stupid. I fob her off with some fake slimming world Pimm’s to confirm that I've finally reached the point of dieting in which I think fake Pimm’s is a good idea (It isn't) and I feel as pissed off about fake Pimm’s as I do about Yorkshire puddings (grrrrrrrrrr) and the weird thing fat club people do when they say "what you need to do is take a sachet of options and put into quark and its just like a chocolate mousse" - it isn’t - vegan or not it just tastes like sadness.... 

Apparently its going to be a lovely shade of 29 degrees tomorrow - but at least I don't have to socialise.