Lalaloopsy bash

Last weekend I hosted a Lalaloopsy themed birthday party for my daughter’s 6th birthday. It was a wonderful opportunity to use my crafting skills and supplies to put together a truly colourful and creative event.

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The main party table incorporated a wrapping paper runner and the plates accented with flowers I had crocheted. These also doubled as quirky party favours.

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There were games of Twister and musical chairs and a chance for the guests to decorate their own paper dolls or foam pirate hats/swords. This proved to be a real hit!

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I rolled patterned paper into handy popcorn cones and fashioned a holder from a floral foam block covered in spotty wrapping paper. A bit of ribbon added the finishing touch.

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There were plenty of sweet things and a mountain of colourful cupcakes.

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I decorated a few round nesting boxes with scrapbooking paper and trims from my local fabric shop for a fun centrepiece. Amazing how far a little imagination can take you!

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During the run up to the party, I fell in love with the Lalaloopsy dolls and playsets. As a result we’ve amassed a collection of  5 large dolls, 1 little doll, 10 mini dolls, and 2 mini playsets.  Total guilty pleasure but my girls adore it!

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This has to be one of my favorite parties to date and the very best part, of course, is that the kids loved it – especially the birthday girl!

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A beautiful day indeed! ♥

Look for me in April…

My handiwork.

 

…because March is just a manic month! My life has been all but completely consumed with Emilie’s upcoming 5th birthday party. I eat, sleep, and breathe party decorations, table layouts, and menu plans. Colour schemes, centrepieces, and cupcake stands dominate my daily life. The budget (if I’d even set one) has long been blown. Bouncy castle hired, invitations sent, RSVP’s coming in thick and fast…

I sit around the house hand-making decorations, arranging tablescapes, and hot glueing things that probably shouldn’t be hot glued.

19 more days til party time.

Bring. It. On.

Running out of excuses, ha

Well talk about fallin’ right off the face of the blogosphere! What’s going on with me? Could it be that I’ve run out of things to say? Never, haha.

Last week was half term, which in my world means one stir-crazy 4 year old who redefined the phrase “couch potato”. I’m surprised her butt didn’t fuse to the sofa! I did manage to pry her away from the TV long enough to drag her to a doctor’s appointment (for her little sis), a session at the soft-play centre, a run around at the park, and two playdates. Win.

If I had my way, they’d be in school always. Yeah, I said it.

Besides the hassle of half term, I’ve been in full on party planning panic mode for Emilie’s 5th birthday. If you know me, you know my parties. And you know that there is no halfway. It’s all or nothing. If it’s not perfect, well, mama ain’t happy. The theme is a closely guarded secret. If I told you I’d have to silence you, then who would be left to read my blog? For those who do know the theme, consider yourselves a part of the elite few — my ninja party planning crew. All shall be revealed in time. Watch this space!

So other than losing sleep and ignoring the fact that I still have a 20,000 word dissertation to write, all is well in my world of nappies, snot, and bruised knees.

I promise to get back on the blogging ball. Soon.

 

 

What she said

In true better late than never style, I’m getting around to posting about Emilie’s quip to me when I asked her why she burst into tears at the Christmas program.

The conversation was thankfully brief:

Me: (trying to broach the topic indirectly) “Sooo did you have fun at the Christmas program today?”

Emmie: “Well, I was having loads of fun. And then you showed up. And then I just wasn’t excited anymore.”

Once I’d managed to pick my jaw up off the floor, we continued our trek home in relative silence. Once there, I complained to my mom.

“She hates me. I’m doomed.”

My mom laughed, hugged me, and reassured me as only a mother can.

The enigma of mothers and daughters…

The next day, there was another performance of the program. This time my mother and I approached in stealth mode and hid in the very back row. Emilie and her class came on stage and despite scanning the crowd she didn’t spot us. Phew! She seemed satisfied that we weren’t there and actually started singing and doing the motions! The little traitor! Lol.

Once the song was over I decided that revenge was mine — I jumped up out of the crowd and shouted her name, waving frantically and grinning ear to ear! She was stunned and mortified, muhahahaha!

And I took this pic to prove it… perfect blackmail fodder for her 21st birthday!

Ooops, she did it again

Hands up if you remember the Harvest Festival fiasco back in October? No? Well take a moment to refresh your memory here.

Today my darling daughter did a double whammy.

It was the school Christmas program and I was buzzing with excitement. I dropped Emilie to her class and headed back home to spruce up for the program’s 10.30am start. An hour later we arrived  at the school hall with bells on — only to be informed that it had started at 10am! I frantically checked my tickets and found, much to my dismay, that 10am it was indeed. We had missed almost the entire show!

Feeling particularly downtrodden and drowning in mommy guilt, we snuck into the hall nonetheless to catch a glimpse of the final song. We had spied Emilie and her class waiting in the outside corridor. She was chatting happily with her friends. I asked a fellow parent-friend how Emilie had performed in the earlier dance (which we missed) and he said that she’d been brilliant and bubbly. I was thrilled that she’d enjoyed herself, disappointed that I hadn’t seen it.

No worries, I thought. This would be our chance. The final number with the whole school singing and dancing. Surely this would make up for missing out on the first half of the show. We stood near the exit and watched as Emilie and her class filed into the hall neatly. They all lined up, with Emilie in the front row.  I grabbed my camera and grinned. This was it!

But suddenly…. Emilie’s face crumpled and she retreated into the crowd of her classmates. I could see her shoulders shaking and hear the unmistakable whine. She’d seen us!

And she wasn’t happy about it.

My kid cried like someone had stolen her favorite Barbie or ate the last gummy worm. No amount of smiling, winking, cajoling, blown kisses, waving, or thumbs up could settle her. We tried to duck our heads, to make ourselves less visible, but her wails only grew louder as her classmates’ cheerful chorus rang through hall.

Eventually her teacher plucked her from the crowd and carried her to the side. That was our exit cue. We didn’t so much as leave as we just got the hell out of there. And this time instead of feeling embarrassed, I felt completely distressed and perfectly perplexed.  As we approached the school gate I hesitated. I decided to wait to see if she was ok. The teacher approached, holding my distraught daughter by the hand. She shook her head and told me that Emilie had been just fine and she wasn’t sure why she was upset. She once again reassured me that “sometimes children get shy when their parents are around.”

Well I know shy. And this wasn’t it. This was 4 yr old teenage angst. This was “why-are-you-here-cramping-my-style” tears. The expression on Emilie’s face said it all.  I had a mammoth OMG moment as I realised that she hadn’t wanted us there. Well imagine that…

And if you think I’m exaggerating or misreading my kid — just wait til you hear what she had to say when I picked her up from school at the end of the day.

I will leave that for tomorrow’s post. In the meantime, enjoy the one photo I was able to snap of her before we hightailed it out of there.

And yes, she’s crying.

No sleep for the weary

“I don’t wanna go to school!”

This is the refrain that echos off our sleep silent walls each morning, with the slight variation of “I don’t wanna go to ballet” on Saturdays.

Pillows are clung to and the covers are pulled up over a reluctant, pouting head.

A four-year old’s finger pokes me in the eye.

“Don’t be ridiculous mom. If you don’t take me to class who will? It’s already seven-four-six…” She says the four and six separately for emphasis.

I groan a feeble “I’m coming” and roll back over. Emilie has been up with the roosters (not that we have any) and has already helped herself to 2 pots of yoghurt and a sloppily poured bowl of cereal. I, on the other hand, have been smashing and snoozing my alarm for the past hour.

Smash, snooze. Smash, snooze.

Emilie dresses herself expertly while I lay lethargic in my swaddle of blankets. I peer at her through half closed eyes, checking that she hasn’t put her blouse on backward or her tights on inside out.

“Don’t forget your shoes,” I mutter, my tongue slick with sleep.

“I’m already wearing them mother.” This kid takes independence to a whole new level.

I am eventually coaxed from the confines of my cocoon and dress with the zest of a zombie. The brisk 15 minute walk downhill in the crisp, cold morning air puts life in my legs and lungs.

By the time I have deposited my darling daughter at her classroom door and tackled the journey back uphill I am alert, fully awake and all hopes of returning home to salvage my slumber has evaporated like the morning dew.

I pray for Sunday…