Pimty Tare my dudes: A fourth birthday

And so it came to pass that my youngest; the tiny, puking, screaming little baby who inspired me through sleep deprivation-based torture to start this blog, turned four years old.

Four! That’s the average life span of a gerbil.

He’ll be starting school in September.

I’d say the time has passed too quickly but I am actually quite ready for this stage to be over so I can go for coffee and lunch, do pilates and repeatedly clean the house which is the image I’ve been sold of SAHM-dom once the kids are at school.

I started doing yearly birthday updates when he turned one, and then two, and then three, and then when four hit I was so busy I didn’t really have time to write anything in advance.

I started feeling a little guilty about it, as if he’s every going to notice, so I thought I’d take the time to mark the occasion.

This year we were less organised than ever before.

After last year’s big and very memorable party he was adamant that wanted one, but given he’s really only got the one best friend at preschool it didn’t seem worth the cost or effort of organising something big, especially as his biggest concern was what he might get in the party bag.

Instead, the day before his birthday we did a game of dinosaur golf with his sister and four of their friends, followed by a Maccy Ds and a quite frankly horrible, store-bought cake in the park, and a minor head injury for one of the attendees, for what is a party without blood hmmm?

We then spent a very sunny afternoon with family in the back garden, which he seemed to be happy with, mainly because he had a party bag and lots of presents (although he’d not quite learned to mask his disappointment when receiving clothes. Maybe that’s a skill he’ll learn this year…).

PIMTY TARE

That evening we wrapped up his presents, and got out the banner and decorations which husband and oldest had gone to buy from B&M.

I had admittedly imbibed a whole pitcher of Pimms and Lemonade (which makes it more apt, somehow), but it was still the most I’ve laughed in ages.

Anyway, the people of Facebookland also found it fairly funny.

For the record, no, we didn’t thread it that way for attention (come on, that’s crediting me with way too much imagination and time, and there are several other brilliant examples on the thread above) and no, we won’t be re-threading it because even if he could read (which he can’t, he’s four) now PIMTY TARE is a thing in this house and always will be and stop being such an utterly boring, humour-devoid person. Learn to laugh and enjoy stuff for fucks sake. I bet no one invites you to pimties.

Happy birthday little buddy! Pimty like it’s 1999.

You are the cutest kid I know, even if you are covered in snot, still like to whinge quite a lot, only eat pasta and won’t sleep in your own bed.

Your reasoning skills are immense, your energy is quite something and your hair is brilliant.

By the way…

Oh and B&M did contact me and said they’d send a present, even though I called them useless cheap Zoflora-peddling shysters (I meant it all in the nicest possible sense, of course…) which was nice of them. Watch this space!