So, right now, I’m not sure when I last updated. For the last two weeks, we have been rather stressed. Actually, that’s not quite true: we have been rather stressed since the birth of our daughter, and that has been ratcheted up to 11 since the Christmas break.
For the past two weeks in particular though, wow: I haven’t felt this worked up in years. It was our daughter’s birthday. She turned 5. We wanted to celebrate so we booked her a party room at a local soft play centre.
The first blow came in the form of a present for her from my parents and brother, whom I can only assume I have unknowingly offended. I can think of no other reason why they would club together and buy my non-verbal, autistic, sensory seeking child a guitar.
I mean really?
really?!
In terms of appropriate presents, this is up there with glitter bombs and drum kits. I have no idea what thought process was going on here, other than maybe that because my brother is highly proficient at playing guitar and my daughter likes listening to it she may like one. She also likes watching ‘clickspring’ on YouTube, particularly the series when he makes a skeleton clock from sheet metal – but I’m not going to advocate buying her a lathe and etching machines.
For the past several days, she has been intermittently dragging the sodding guitar out, smacking the strings in a tuneless din, then crashing it into the nearest piece of furniture. She will then burst into tears when told to be careful.
They also got her a book on how to learn how to play… she can’t speak and they are under the impression she can read…. Words fail me.
Still, all that aside, we plough on and send out invites to all her friends with an RSVP. Sidenote: people, RSVP stands for Répondez S’il Vous Plaît: this means please respond with “yes” OR “no”, NOT just tell me if you’re coming! It’s very frustrating trying to work out if non-responses mean no-shows.
Anyhow, I guessed at numbers (the number of responses plus one extra on assumption); ordered cupcakes on a whim from a baker who lives two streets away – that worked surprisingly well – and fret about the oncoming onslaught.
Things eased a bit with the arrival of her other grandparents, who instead of large noisy presents brought a highly-extravagant home-made chocolate birthday cake. And then the big day arrived, and I can’t recommend this way of holding kids parties enough: you take them to a large, enclosed environment where for 90 mins they run themselves ragged whilst adults chill out and drink coffee; then they are called into a side room where they sing happy birthday and are fed before being politely – but forcefully – told to leave at the end.
So you leave all the mess behind and swan off. Marvelous! I have no idea what I was worried about. In a few days, hopefully the last of the stress will unwind and I will be able to sleep again. At that point I may contact my relatives and enquire about the guitar: you never know, I may have lost the urge to insert it in someone by then.
Raising the Modern Fae 