Entries in birthday (3)


9th Birthday, yup, I had one! 


Totes turned it. About a month ago, but still, you can't rush an ace party.

This year we hit, Clip & Climb. Why are you still sitting there? Why? You should go. Immediately!   Take your 12 kids to a giant warehouse with the most colourful climbing walls, tunnels, slides, death drops, ropes, mountains and ladders and watch them anxiously sit through the 15 minute 'Safety Briefing'. Then, as if shot out of a colourful cannon, they're off! Grab a harness, choose your obstacle, clip yourself into the auto belay and climb. Climb. CLIMB! That's right Mum and Dad, you don't have to stand at the bottom, looking up, holding a rope all afternoon.  You can have a cuppa, roam with your camera and shout encouraging words, "Keep climbing, your sister climbed higher than that!"   

Boy, did they climb!? It was rhetorical, they did. Indeed. 

Some higher than others. Much higher. Some quicker. The level of bravivity (it's a word, now) increased as the hour grew. Once they trusted their belays there was no stopping them!

We arrived with 12 reasonably hyped up kids, ready for action. We left with 12 hot sweaty messes who should have slept the entire trip home in the car.   Thanks for joining us Alex, James, Tild, Angus, Jack, Kyden, Holly, Izzy, Ariana and our wee Mo.  We missed you, Oscar - next time, eh?  We'll go over the holidays for sure. 

Extra thanks to the Mum's and Dad's who didn't burst forth with a litter of indignant kittens when I suggested they travel 40k's for a kids party. I told you it would be worth it. I love it when I'm right.

Happy birthday, Spike Riley. You're an ace kid. We love the person you've become and quite frankly, if you continue this way, I will be forced to smash your face off and eat it. Keep up the good work! 

f xxxx


Eight, it's all about the bass.

The countdown has been on.

"Only 10 more sleeps til my birthday.

Only 9 more sleeps til my birthday.

Did you know I'm ace at karate?

Only 2 more sleeps til my birthday." 

I did know. I was there at the start. Well, kinda. I was pretty much actually unconscious when he arrived. Totally recommended, btw. Fentanyl is drug you should ask for, by name. :-)

He played basketball with his school team, on the actual day of his birthday and had said to Nana on the phone, before hand, "I feel pretty lucky. I'll probably get a basket tonight." He got a basket that night.  "And this time, for the right team!"

So, what do you do with fifteen, 8 year olds (and their assorted siblings)? I dunno either, I was just pretty positive you don't have them in your house.




Indoor trampoline centres are a thing. They have trampolines that bend up hill. And foam pits to land in. And basketball rings to dunk into from your trampoline base. Trampoline-based dodgeball. 90 mins of jumping, laughing, yelling and chasing makes for mucho tiredo tiny kidlets. Again, highly recommended. 

The kids were sweaty, heaving messes by the end.  Thanks to Jack, Oscar, Matthew, Rhianna, Holly, Tild, Angus, Bodhi, Arianna, Blake, Daniel, Kyden, Wil & Charlie and the might Mo man. And to all the lovely Mum's n Dad's I hadn't met before who hung around to watch the madness. 

Big changes from 7 to 8? The guitar playing is getting better. He's gone up a grade in Little Aths. He's taken up aerobics and is a leader in the boys school team. They're the Lightening Bolts if you didn't even hardly know. :-) Everything is Minecraft this year. All Minecraft, all the time.

He should be embarrassed by the sheer volume (measured in metric tonnes) of presents he received his year. One very lucky, spoilt dude. He got a Chromebook from us - a faster, sleeker computer than I ever had when I was eight... shaddap.  Ooh and a spectacular robotic arm kit from Nana and Papa that he spent quite a few - at times, frustrating hours - with daddy, assembling. 

Happy birthday Spike! You are actually as ace as you think you are - and that's certainly saying a lot!

LOTS of love, 

Mum Dad Mo and that mental dog who lives here. xxxx


seven; it's the new black


Yes, Seven. Not only the name George Costanza wanted to bestow upon his newborn, but also the age of our primogeniture. Seven. Insane!

Spike's party this year was at Rampit! Rampit! is an airport-hanger-sized indoor skate park. Full of plywood ramps, rails, jumps, deep pits filled with foam (and one can only assume, the bones of long forgotten children). The testosterone laden boymen all hurtling towards each other at full tilt!  There was some oestrogen in the building, mostly in the guise of mothers huddled around steaming coffee cups and the smattering of smaller versions also be-scootered, pitting their formidable skills against the sea of XY chromosomes on wheels. Go XX! (laaadies? looking for a husband.... have I got a place for you!) 

The kids were helmeted up and let loose. Matty, Cam, Will, Charlie, Bella, Izzy, Bodhi, Holly, Becca, Oscar, Spike and Morrison (of course!). All the kids arrived with a full compliment of limbs, all left in a similar condition. I got my bond back, is all I'm saying.

What did our gorgeous, hirsute heir to the family fortune want for his birthday? A speedboat? A private army of Helper Monkeys? A treetop fortress complete with canons in each turret? No. A haircut. He wanted a haircut. A short, haircut.

His mother weeps.

Much change from six to seven? Well, now he's in Grade One. Taught admirably by the very switched on Mrs C. He can rock a pair of skinny jeans and (now) a do that requires hair gel. He is (getting better at) playing guitar (we get a LOT of 'Wild Thing' while he's supposed to be practicing his chords). Thanks Mark! Saturdays see him back to running, jumping and biffin' the heavy things of Little Athletics and he's very into 'playing footy' with his buddies at school lunchtime. He's learning Italian, Mandarin and has mastered, Showing Off. He's most definitely funny. Uber competitive. Loving. Caring. Determined. Embarrassed to kiss his mother at the school gate. A great big brother. A total, sweet boog. 

Happy birthday you gorgeous bald kid. We love you more than a bucket full of money laying ducks.

Here's to all your seven year old dreams coming true (unless you're wishing for more haircuts... Mumma canny take it!).

Mumma, Daddy, Mo Flynn and Orson Pup Superstar. xoxoxox