Three years on.
Birthdays, pandemic milestones and appreciation for dropped muffins.
We were all sat having breakfast one day last week, the day before my youngest daughters third birthday, tucking into our various helpings of croissants, toast, fruit and cereal. My husband was off work and so could join us at the table, normally he would have left for work by the time everyone wakes up, so this was a real treat. There was great excitement around the table, not just because of “Dads” presence, but because it was one more sleep until little Lily turned three. She had no idea really what happened on a birthday, she probably can’t remember the one last year, and her brother’s birthday would certainly have looked to different to hers. She humoured us all however, as we talked in great raptures about eating cake, blowing up balloons and the “maybe” presents she MIGHT be opening the next morning.
Birthdays come with great expectations. As the song goes “it’s my birthday and I’ll cry if I want to”, it may be worth always bearing in mind that if your expectations aren’t set too high, then you can’t be disappointed, right?
As a parent we can lose sleep over planning our children’s birthdays (who loses sleep planning ours I wonder…) and we just want everything to be perfect. Lily was born in the middle of the pandemic and so I think we can all agree that her actual birth-day was pretty low key. (Except for her dramatic appearance: we didn’t make it to the hospital in time.) There was no flurry of visitors, no offers of cooked meals, washing being done and cuddles with our newborn. Her first birthday followed a similar theme. We kept it low key, meeting up with my parents at Cragside, our local National Trust, and blowing out candles on a picnic bench next to the kids play park. Let me tell you, that has been one of my favourite birthday parties for the kids, to date. It was so simple it was almost genius.
Pure joy and completely undaunted by Mummy striking a match in the woods.
And as I reflect on her birthday, I wonder if it will always be a symbolic reminder of hard times and how quickly time has passed when it felt like we had no where to go. But look how happy we all seem. The happiest of all being the children.
Back to the breakfast table, and just as we are wiping away the loose pastry flakes from our lips, my husband tells us a rather funny story that almost (almost!) makes me snort orange juice out my nose. I can bet it wasn’t funny at the time, and he confirms there were indeed tears…
His birthday always fell during their family holiday. My father in law was, (or still is, as it isn’t something you can ever give up I think) a farmer. This meant the summer holidays were a busy time for harvesting and other farming matters that happen. So my husband and his family always went on holiday in early June. This particular holiday was to the sandy, white shores of Ibiza. He says he must have been around nine and when I tell you what he said, I want you to bear in mind this is his ONLY memory of his birthday that year.
They were staying in a hotel complex with a swimming pool, naturally, which had the sun loungers around its perimeter. Fellow holiday makers slapped on their factor 10 suncream (this was the 90s), and set up camp to relax for the day, perhaps a cold cocktail in hand.
Along comes a young boy of around nine (the teller of this story) wearing, I like to think, Ninja Turtle swim shorts, a character t-shirt and a badge that declares it is his birthday: “9 today!” or something along those lines. He is proudly carrying a large tray of birthday muffins his mum had very thoughtfully gone out and bought that morning. Perhaps she had had to search a few local supermarkets to find the perfect selection for her son to share with holiday guests, to help celebrate his birthday. “Pastel de cumpleaños?” Everyone loves a birthday and even if it isn’t your own, the excitement can be contagious.
Here he comes with his tray laden with muffins. The other guests raise their heads, lazily from their sun loungers to get a good look at what he is carrying. “Aw, it’s his birthday - how sweet.” He is beaming with pride that everyone around the pool is going to get a birthday muffin. His mum probably watches on proudly too, entrusting her son to deliver the goods.
And then it all goes wrong.
He trips (over his flip flops) and falls head over heels to the ground. Everyone is watching with baited breath as the muffins leave the tray in unison. They fly through the air heading straight towards water. Everyone gasps as every single muffin from the tray lands with a splash into the swimming pool, cases up.
A collected intake of breath and a heartbeat before the tears start.
Can you image the utter disappointment on that nine year olds poor face?
And then the look on his mum’s face, as she deals with the tears and floating, soggy muffins in a pool.
That was his memory from his ninth birthday. Muffins in a pool in sunny Ibiza and his mum consoling him. Unfortunately, he can’t remember how or who did fish those crumbs out of the swimming pool, but I hope he was able to eat cake later that day.
And so I wonder, again, what memories my children will have from their birthdays, good or bad? What disasters will occur that result in tears on their special day? What will they ACTUALLY remember and is the simplest of birthdays the most special?
I shall report back on this after my middle daughter’s birthday, which is in two weeks. She will be seven and has been planning since the start of the summer holidays…wish me luck 🥴