February 27, 2013

tweet tweet

It seems we are always planning a birthday party.  That's what you get when your family's birthdays are as spread out as ours are.  October, December, March, April and now July are all birthday months, and then of course there are the anniversaries that some of us forget.

Next up, it's Max, dear little Max with his fiery temper but sweetest of natures and his love of all things wild (he has asked for a toy duck and a toy birdie to join his toy lambie, toy froggie and toy bear).  He wants a birdie party, and while I'm not entirely sure how we'll make it so, it is a sweet theme and one we should be able to do plenty with.  We've already tried our hand at a bird cake - not a cake for birds (there's an idea), but a bird shaped frosted cake - anything in the name of practice when it comes to cake.  And this weekend just gone, Will put up with my bossier than usual instructions on how I wanted the invitation to look and knocked the basic idea out in his usual casual style, while I then agonised over fonts and text size and whether I should round the corners or not, all of which seemed pointless when the colour printing woes started.

Cute?  I think so.  It's not going to be long before cute doesn't cut it with my kids, and everything will need to be boy flavoured, so I'm making the most of the sweetness of something as simple as a birdie party, even if it does have more than just a hint of putting a bird on it.  And this invitation indulges my love of that cute little birdie, the robin red breast, possibly my favourite of all the feathers.

In other news, this is my last week of maternity leave.  Next Monday I'm back to work (the kind that pays).  It's mixed feelings all round.  I'm going back to a new building, desk, outlook, probably a new set of clients, there will be many many faces I don't recognise, problems to solve, an inordinate amount of juggling and my age old inability to switch off from work... but then there'll be people I love there too, colleagues I'd call friends, a renewed appreciation for weekends and the opportunity to drink coffee (real coffee) and enjoy the odd lunch with my husband who'll be just a few minutes stroll away.  But the overarching reason I have this nagging feeling of anxiety that's been swelling over the last month or so is knowing I'll be away from my children.  Lord knows I am not the picture perfect mother I want to be, but every day I'm away from them is another day gone by that I miss out on trying my best again.  On the days when they are at kindy, I long to be with them again, even though I need the break so badly sometimes.  I pick them up early, let them play in the mud, spoil them a little with ice-cream for dessert or a new Matchbox car, knowing that before long, I won't be able to pick them up before the end of the day, take them for a drive to the scrap yard (it makes them so happy to see the material handler!) because I'll be rushing around trying to do a million more things all at once.  But me going back to work, it's happening and I need to deal with it and dwell on the positive change it will bring to my life and theirs too.

But I digress, as this post is about the party that is coming and I'm not talking about the one that involves me eating a lot of Easter chocolate.  In a month, Max of the fuzzy hair and inexplicably beautiful eyes and twig legs (not unlike a bird's) will be three.  Three.  THREE.  Now I'm no scientist, but surely this means the end of the terrible twos.  Right?

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