So I am in a bit of a tizz.
Kinda like Birthday Week but this one creeped up and then thrust itself on me like a sweaty 40 year old in a bar full of teenagers with their older cousins ID.
On Friday The Golden Child and Sister-In-Love arrive from Sydney with the Golden Spawn.
We have yet to have an audience with the Golden Spawn as he decided to make his entrance into the world while I was stroking out in the school playground.
So, MOTY in all of her wisdom and kindness has offered for me to throw a 1st birthday party (kinda like when we did Christmas instead of my birthday for The Golden Child – my birthday is IN MARCH) for ALL OF OUR RELATIVES on Saturday.
I don’t have to do EVERYTHING of course. She is going to get my Daddy to cook a BBQ and I think she is chucking some kind of meat in the crockpot and all I have to do is the birthday cake and desserts and ‘something to have with a coffee, oh but Kelley I don’t want you asking for a coffee while you are here because then everyone will want one’
Oh. Yes. She. Motherfucking. DID.
And the decorations.
And then lug it all with a car full of people to her house with nothing falling apart.
EVERYONE is so excited to see my cake creations apparently. Fuck. I was going to buy a sponge from Coles and slap some icing on it and say to the Golden Spawn HAVE AT IT BOY!
But now I am making a metric fucktonne of cakes, cookies and slices and a cake that looks like this fucker:
I need to clean up this bombsite that is my house before the
mongrel hordes relatives pop in for a cuppa on the way to my parents half mcmansion.
Moo and Da Boyfriend and Ring-In-Ranga will be here and I want to spend as much time as possible drinking in their youthful glow and squeezing them till their eyes bleed.
I have to do that fucker Easter Bunny’s job for him cause he is a lazy fuck. Which means I have to clean up the garden for the annual egg hunt.
And organise something to eat on the day that doesn’t involve chocolate.
Fuck, I should hose down the trampoline… bird shit carries like Ebola and shit, right? And I am pretty sure unwrapped chocolate eggs are better paired with salmonella or rabies AM I RIGHT?
And then there is the whole entertaining the relatives and making sure no one sustains a life threatening injury or I lose my shit and run down the street naked with a Hoot The Owl Cake smeared all over my body screaming about needing a motherfucking latte.
Someone make some fucking ice cause Mama is gunna need a bucket of Margaritas.