Happy birthday to not-so-little Amber Grace Carter (“Doob”), who was seven years old yesterday. 😀
You’d think, wouldn’t you, that by now I’d understand by how excited young children can get about their birthday. But no: twice a year, without fail, I am astonished at the levels of excitement it’s possible to reach.
She was awake at 1.30am on the morning of her birthday, but the Lovely Melanie managed to keep her contained until 6.30 (I can sleep through anything, fortunately…), when she finally caved in, woke me and let Amber open her presents.
Then it was downstairs for a birthday breakfast, and preparation for the big family party.
The day before I was off work (it’s been half-term here), and took the girls swimming. Then, after, I let Amber choose anything she wanted from the Co-Op for her birthday breakfast. She deliberated for about a second and chose chocolate-chip Weetabix – a box of 12.
Chickens, I hope you like chocolate-chip Weetabix!
Then everyone had to get ready for the Strictly Come Dancing-themed party. The Lovely Melanie had been up till 11 o’clock the night before, turning our house into a facsimile of the Strictly studios and baking a pink Strictly cake.
I blew up the balloons.
There was indecision about which new birthday dress to wear – the Frozen dress with the gloves, the Strictly-style ballgown, the old Frozen dress…
I wore the silver shirt I bought for Millie’s Alien party.
Then the guests began to arrive – almost everyone could make it this year: Nanny, Grampy, Grandma, Granddad, Rich, Carla, Izzy, Conny, Ben, Sharon, Nik and Liz. In fact, there were so many people we ran out of tea bags!
Auntie Conny stayed the night, too, which was a nice bonus – we always love having guests to stay in Bexley, especially on birthdays, and the girls press-ganged her into helping them with all the Lego Amber was lucky enough to be bought for her birthday.
The Lovely Melanie joked about even the chickens getting together to lay a birthday egg – and we all laughed, because our chickens don’t, as a rule, lay eggs. But lo and behold, in the coop we found a fresh-laid egg!
And there was another one today. We’re beginning to suspect that Queen Cool was some sort of militant chicken, holding out for better conditions and withholding eggs until the management (i.e. us) gave in to their demands – whatever they were.
With Queen Cool’s death last week (of natural causes), more modern, less radical heads have prevailed and egg production has restarted. We hope!