Blaine has a birthday party. Mummy has a breakdown.

Blaine turned the grand age of 7 in July.  7.  How he's not put me in some loony bin by now is beyond me, but here we are - 7 years on and I'm still learning every single day at being a great mum. Or not.

He decides he wants to have a party. Well, it won't be fucking happening in my house! The kids, the mess, the noise, the mess, the organisation, the mess, the stress. No way.  I learnt this lesson on his 1st Birthday - that was hell.  Tom decided to power wash the fucking patio an hour before the party kicked off, I'm in the kitchen attempting to make party food (sausages on sticks, crisps in bowls) and trying to keep Blaine clean and stop him from eating all the food. It was a very stressful occasion and one I vowed never to repeat again.

So, it's been soft play, some arty farty thing, tubing at the ski centre etc etc  This year he wants a party at Pizza Hut.  Yes, that high class kids eating establishment.  Sounds easy enough. "BOYS only - I HATE girls!" that's his instructions.  We invite all the boys in his class who aren't actually away on holiday.  8 in total. 8 boys. 7 year olds.  In Pizza Hut. How hard can this be?!

My friends kinda gasp when I tell them my wonderful plans for Blaine's party.  "You're fucking joking?!" is the normal response from those who know me well, "Och, it'll be fine, 8 boys, all eating pizza - wtf can seriously go wrong" Famous last words.

We arrive at Pizza Hut.  Some of the boys are already there, they appear to be a tad excited, but they'll chill out once they are seated. Yep, all going fine.

We are shown to our table - it's at the very end of the restaurant, the wifey informs me I can sit in the booth adjacent to the table, so I can have some of my own space.  Great stuff - I even get to sit in peace!  HURRAH!  Then the first problem occurs...... the boys all want to sit next to certain people.  Just sit the fuck down. Does it really matter where people sit?!  Apparently, yes.  Eventually they sit down. Well, when I say sit it's more like they are on springs.  7 year olds can't sit still.

Then the waitress appears to take the drinks order.  I'm assuming the little darlings will order water or apple juice.  No. Do they fuck. "COKE! COKE! COKE!"  Ermmm....wtf?! COKE?!?!? Hold on. Wait one. I ask the boys "Coke?! Are you all allowed coke?  What about apple juice?" Blaine probably died of embarrassment at this point.  "YES WE CAN HAVE COKE!" They all shout back.  7 year olds can't speak quietly.  They can only shout. So the waitress goes off to get all the drinks.  I even allow Blaine to have fizzy juice too.

The drinks arrive and they act as if they are dying of thirst and guzzle it down "MORE! MORE!" erm..... OK, it is unlimited I guess........

The waitress then gives them crayons and colouring books "THAT'S FOR BABIES" they holler. So they decided instead of drawing with the crayons they would catapult them across the restaurant using their forks.  Genius idea.  Then another decides that his juice isn't for drinking, oh no, it's for spraying all over people. Through a straw.

At this point I call the waitress over "Hello.  Yes, do you sell Valium? Or vodka? Straight?" the wifey just laughs and informs me she'll be bringing the pizza bases over for the boys to make their pizzas with.  Oh good, this will distract them. 

The bases arrive, along with all the stuff to put on them. One by one the little animals are ordered up to the table to create their pizzas.  One of them calls his "The Volcano" as he's piled it high with crap.  Another is "The Mountain" again because it's piled high with crap. And so it goes on.  The waitress brings over more and more toppings as it wold appear these kids have never eaten anything in their life.  Or so you would think.

The pizzas go away in the oven and then more chaos erupts.  "Let's wrestle!" one decides.  Wrestle?! Where the fuck do they think they are? "NO! SIT DOWN" but they are past the stage of listening to anything I have to say, hyper on coke, and being 7 year olds, they will do exactly what the very fuck they want.  And wrestling it is.

The pizzas arrive.  No one has died in the wrestling.  I can get through this. Then a miracle happens.  They sit down.  They eat. They are even a bit quieter.  Hurrah.

After pizza they get a pudding.  Unlimited ice-cream, with toppings. Lots and lots of toppings.  For those of you who have never endured the hell of Pizza Hut let me enlighten you - the toppings aren't fruit, sprinkles or wafers.  Oh no, don't be ridiculous.  The toppings are Smarties, Jelly Tots and Chocolate Buttons.  Followed by lashings of high sugar sauce.  Seriously - who the fuck decided this was a good idea? They are hyper on coke, now they are going to be filled with even more sugar thanks to all the bloody Smarties they are piling onto their ice-cream.  My advice of "That's enough sweeties boys" falls on deaf ears.  "AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA MORE MORE!" They are possessed - making more "mountains" out of ice-cream and sweets.

They devour their ice-cream, then go up for more, then one decides to tip all of his on the floor.  Then one finds a (clean) dog poo bag in his pocket and they all start squabbling over who can wear it on their heads. It's a fucking dog poo bag.  Stop arguing. Sit down. Be quiet.  Nope, they are not listening.

And then the parents start to appear! Praise the Lord and all that is holy - it's the end of the party, the chaos is over. They are getting collected to go home.  "Have they been good?" the parents ask.  My reply....."Of course! Not a problem, such lovely boys!"

I pay, I leave. I go home and crack open the vodka.

Next year he wants to go to the cinema with his friends.  Tom can take them.