glory days

You cannot simply have a birthday in our house. It is not about just opening cards, opening presents, thanks, whoosh there goes another year. Oh no. Birthdays are super special and so the day deserves the elevated status of super-special-this-is-your-one-extraordinary-day. And so, birthdays in our house come with a few rules.

Get your theme on

There must be a theme. Mainly an option for the little humans in the house but the big, grownup, numbers with an 0 birthdays get a theme too.  This has ranged from super-heroes to hawaiin luau to Frozen to London Olympics 2012 to Lego to Bollywood to Eurovision for them and an N party for me and a black&white party for him (he's a Geordie...it wasn't a segregation party). Just prior to a birthday, we can be found huddled together, planning what this year's theme will be and then cue...Pinterest. I will then be found trawling Pinterest for decoration, food and of course cake ideas. More about cakes later.

Dance to the music

There must be a birthday playlist. Up until now, said playlists have been my area of expertise. With such an eclectic love of genres, a Mama Elsie playlist will take you down an 80s memory lane with a quick stop over at 70s disco, back to some Britpop, stroll with some reggae or country before hanging out with some good ole soul and funk. Since the 3G reckon they've 'discovered' music, they have hi-jacked the creating of playlists to consist of the top 15 songs that are played ad nauseum. These kids need some music education. And the steps to the 'Candy' dance.

Sugar, sugar

There must be cake. I like cake. We all like cake. I haven't got the patience to bake cakes. Before I got over my full-time working mummy guilt and started buying cakes, I used to make the birthday cakes. They usually took me three attempts, finishing well into the night and were presented with a slop of butter icing to resemble themed objects such as a disco dance floor, a princess dress or respective numbers. The best was a number three with orange butter icing; nicknamed by a good friend as the 'pizza' cake. This has now gone down in folklore.

Food, glorious food

There must be a birthday meal. Because they're a little bit young for me to introduce birthday beats, the deal is that the birthday person gets to choose dinner. Be it Sunday roast on a Thursday, Maccy-Ds in the garden, pizza in front of the telly, or getting spruced up for a meal in a restaurant. Your birthday, your choice.

So we got a theme, we got the music, we got a cake...of sorts and we might even get our gladrags on get someone else to cook. Time is running out. They are starting to protest. My theme party ideas will soon become a thing of the past. Although I do like the idea of my70th being a Superhero party so who knows?

This post was inspired by The Photographer's Gallery:familyphotographynow.net: still life

shout, shout, let it all out

Back in my early teaching days, if we were celebrating someone's birthday with the usual slab of cake in the staffroom we would give that someone carte blanche to have a rant and a rave. This was the birthday rant. About anything and to anyone, but it could only last on your birthday.

Needless to say no-one ever took up the mantle seriously but we would all have a 'giggle' at who we'd choose to unleash our birthday rant to. Usually that kid who took it upon themselves to make your Monday period 1 lesson a living hell or the suit in the office that had forgotten what a classroom looked like but insisted on telling you what you were doing wrong.

No, we all took the higher ground. Unless the birthday celebrations went on too late and got a little too messy that night. Suddenly, everyone would be claiming their birthday rant!

But doesn't age give you that right to, how shall I put it, give people a piece of your mind? I'm spending some time considering this because I still cringe at the times when, upon discovering the price of an untagged item at the till, my mum had no qualms about complaining "How much? That's ridiculous, put it back Nicola" and I'd have to skulk away with burning cheeks back along the queuing aisle. Why couldn't she just pay it and return it later? I'd think with my no-responsibility-no-damn-clue-attitude.

However, it was her money, her choice, her right to raise her voice wasn't it? Maybe. And I do find myself irked more and more about poor customer service, the behaviour of people in the street or in their cars (don't get me started on kids without seatbelts) and yes, things that are ridiculously priced.

So perhaps Mum was right to voice her consumer distaste.  Maybe we do get to a point in our lives where we think Nope I'm gong to have to say something about this. Whether it's paying a joke for a plain white t-shirt or when the shop owner in the village corner shop doesn't look you in the eye or thank you for your custom but is happy to take your money. 

I don't think ranting is in my nature but I can certainly string together a strong word or two.  And maybe I'll wait to re-enact the whole How much? scenario to embarrass my own three  daughters another time ...my day will come.

Until then, I will continue to save my tirades for the TV...I'm good at that.