A Real Fizzer

Somewhere this weekend, within a forty kilometre radius of our house, is a pony grazing contently, blissfully unaware of the toddler-induced mayhem it just avoided. For five hours the day before, I baked teeny toddler food; itty-bitty quiches, cutie-pie cupcakes, prepared bowls of pillowy marshmallows, crunchy tortilla chips and litres of sugary drinks to keep the littlies hydrated and hyped up for a certain three-year-old's pony party.

Party Day

We awoke early on party day. The weather was perfect. Caylee was excited as she had been for the past two weeks. It was the same routine: bound out of bed and ask the all-important question,"Is it my party today?" This time I could say, "Yes!" Just two days earlier, she'd been taken to the hospital after hours of vomiting. She was limp and pale. So when she ate some toast and had a drink on the morning in question, I leaped into hyper-drive and delegated the fairy bread to one child and whipping more cream to the other. We were officially having ourselves a par-tay!

Suddenly it all came screeching to a halt when I noticed the guest of honour, curled up on the sofa, whiter than the balloon that was bobbing nearby. Within minutes she was tucked up in my lap after being sick and I knew it was time to make the call.

A Sad Decision

It seems the Pony Lady was used to children getting sick and parties being rescheduled so it wasn't a problem when I called her. However, not all our guests took the news as well. I went through the list, sending message after message. One by one they sent the standard reply such as, "sorry to hear she's not well etc..." except one. Apparently, my friend's husband (who shall not be identified, so as not to embarrass their three teenage boys), was so upset he almost cried! He was distraught even on Facebook. He really wanted to see the pony!!! Am I missing something? Was the pony party supposed to fill a void from his own childhood? Is there more to this? I dare not even ask. That's some other wife's problem.

The Aftermath

The day after and we are down to only one vagrant balloon bobbing around the living room. I'm not entirely sure what happened to the others. I did yell at one child, (the one who turns almost any household object into a ball to bowl down the hall or kick from the front door to the dining room) to stop kicking the balloons through the house. Gradually they popped I think. All I know is that I stopped jumping after the third one burst.

Big Mama is now bulging with extra of everything to cater for the pony party and the full buffet for the adults. The chocolate fudge party cake has been dispersed to various sectors and some frozen for those stressful moments when the children have gone to bed and I need to collect my thoughts and gain my composure. I find that a good, dense, dark chocolate cake helps. The beauty of it is though - in about three weeks time, we get to do it all again. Hip hip hooray!