A fairy exploded in my house

My house looks like a fairy walked in, threw up, and then exploded.

That's right, peeps. Today we held Phoebe's fifth birthday party. And just quietly, I think it went well. I'm too tired to be chuffed, but let's just say I'm fairly sure everyone left happy. Oh, and the almost-birthday girl is fast asleep in bed, shedding glitter and tiara-like debris all over her pillow.

I must admit, I was a little nervous about this party. Apart from being the first party in which the guests stayed without their parents, I barely had time to prepare for it. Apart from raiding the $2 shop last Saturday (with a revolting Mouse in tow), I had not really planned anything for today's shin-dig other than "buy pink food". Which, I'm sure you'll agree, was an excellent place to start but probably needed a bit of fleshing out.

So after work last night, I hit Woolworths with a blush-coloured vengeance. After the kids were asleep, we hung streamers and bunting and balloons and Chinese lanterns...put flowers in vases and willed my inner-Martha-Stewart to come forth...made tiny teacups out of marshmallows and musk lifesavers...threw a batch of cupcakes and two large pink cakes into the oven (which mercifully is ENORMOUS - can you tell I loves my new oven??)...hulled strawberries and made pink heart-shaped jelly and cleaned the bathroom...and then fell in a heap.

Luckily, the Mouse heard me go to bed and decided to help me stay awake by choosing that exact moment to become afraid of the dark. Which meant that she screamed blue murder unless all the lights in the house were on. Which in turn meant that no one else could sleep (not to mention the fact she kept calling out from her bedroom, "Is dark, Mummy! Too scary, Mummy! No lights, Mummy! See you inna mornin, Mummy!")

And when she finally fell into an exhausted sleep (still talking, though), we warily closed our red eyes...only to be woken at 2:45am. Jack had woken up at about 2, dressed himself, and was playing (loudly) in his room, waiting for us to 'get up'. He was convinced it was morning, and that we were, in fact, quite lazy. It took some convincing to get him back into his pyjamas and into bed. Entertaining? Uh, yeah. Restful? Nope.

So anyway, the kids dragged us from our fitful dreaming around 6am by kicking the shite out of 30 balloons waiting on the loungeroom floor. Apparently it was squealingly good fun.

While my beloved took the biggies to ballet, Mouse and I got the house in order and threw pink food (artfully) onto the pink tablecloth, with pink plates and napkins and cups and straws and flowers. And some more pink. And some purple.

Thank the heavens above for our next-door neighbour (heretofore known as Aunty Danielle, m'kay?), who was so excited about Phoebe's birthday that she took care of the pass-the-parcel and a shedload of prizes for me. She arrived with an armload of balloons and presents, took over the face painting duties, and was basically a godsend.

Around lunchtime I realised I hadn't iced Phoebalina's birthday cake. I actually enjoy decorating cakes, especially if there's one the kids have asked for on their birthdays. Phoebe has for months had her eye on a Donna Hay delicacy, and had asked me to replicate it. Problem was, I couldn't find the decorative butterflies I needed for the top anywhere, not for any price...so I made them out of icing. To say I was up to my armpits in icing is no exaggeration, my friends.

Eventually, the table was groaning with pink food and a cake that I will admit I was quite proud of. Considering it's thrown-togetherness, it looked pretty good. It was a layered strawberry cake, with fresh raspberries in the middle, icing that graduated from a soft pink at the bottom to a creamy white at the top, and handmade butterflies dancing around the number 5 candle sitting in pride of place on top. Phoebs was happy with it, at any rate.

Phoebe's little girlie friends all arrived in their fairy outfits, and for two hours we played party games and doled out pink sugar (and sausage rolls - they're protein, right?) The actual party was a bit of a blur - all I can tell you is that I played lots of musical games with eight little fairies (and one pirate) and there were lots of prizes and fairy dust. They were the most well-behaved group of little girls I've ever seen, but even still we didn't stop for a minute! (Who needs a gym when you can host a five year old's birthday party...)

Phoebe pranced around in her fairy dress, waving her wand and beaming at everyone with a face that was emblazoned with butterfly glittery-ness. She played beautifully with her friends and was clearly enjoying the moment she'd waited twelve months for. Somehow, even though she has not yet turned five, she seemed more grown-up. I'm not sure exactly why. But even the freckles across her nose and cheeks seemed to stand out a little more...which, combined with her long legs and infectious giggle, seem to emphasise how big my girl is becoming. I still can't put my finger on it. All I know is, today I could not see much of my little baby in Phoebe-the-big-girl. Then again, I could see a helluva lot of fairy.

By the time the family arrived to sing Happy Birthday (was I smart, or stupid, to space the kinder friends and family into two smaller shin-digs?? Hmmm?? I think I was smart. Right then.), we had been partying for several hours. It was nice for Phoebs to see her grandparents, aunties and uncles (and Argie, and Dasha of course!) in a more relaxed way. I'm glad she could spend time with her friends, and then her family, without feeling overwhelmed or rushed. It just made for a very long afternoon!

But what was great, was that we had a drink and a bit of cake (Mummy had a wine, do you blame me??), Asha tried to eat the toy duck inside the plastic sphere (which we all egged her on to do - no one is innocent here), and before tired turned ugly, it was over. Oh, and we discovered that Asha is terrified (and I do mean, the poor kid got the trembles) of balloons. Which was awesome, considering the house was decked out in about a million of the things.

So now, the balloons are still round and shiny; the bunting hangs gaily, flapping slightly under the breeze of the heating; the streamers festooning the house are still bright and festive. But the cake is all gone...there is icing ground into the carpet...twisties under the table...a brand-spanking-new Barbie sits on the couch, wondering where everyone went. My three little bandits ran their sugar-highs out - Phoebs crashed first, most spectacularly. I think she was asleep before the glitter settled on her pillowcase. Jack struggled valiantly to stay up, finding reasons to blow his nose and inform us of random facts before he succumbed to slumber. And a special mention must go to the Mouse, who not only removed her fairy costume and hair-tie at the party and did a nudey/nappy run complete with snotty nose and wild-child hair, but she stayed pumping until only five minutes ago. Gotta love that pink sugar.

And the fact remains that after all the shopping and cooking and cleaning and balloon-blowing and eating and dancing and prize-giving and squealing and present-giving and hugging and thanking and cleaning and hysterical sugar-induced mania, my baby is turning five on Monday. Which is amazing and wonderful and heart-clenchingly bittersweet. And it is normal, I suppose, to feel that way, when a fairy is walking around, holding your heart in her hands. Especially a sweet little fairy with freckles sprinkled on her nose.