I spent yesterday afternoon in the company of a good many Super Heroes and a few (by comparison) Fairy Princesses.
There were pirates, knights in shining armour, a couple
of Supermen, a small but dynamic Buzz Lightyear and, of course, the Birthday Boy dressed as a Power Ranger in red, white and gold. Had I not known he was a Power Ranger, having been introduced to this strange breed through watching countless of their escapades
in the company of the Little Welsh Boys, I might have thought he was either Benny or Bjorn from Abba, in those long ago days when pop stars actually dressed up in the kind of costumes you now mostly find in The Disney Store.
Either way, Our Morgan looked completely adorable. His mum, the Darling Daughter in Law bewailed the fact that he had intended to go to the party dressed as a knight but high jinks on the previous day meant that the body armour was rather too grubby
for a party. "He looked SO sweet!" she lamented. I'm not sure knights are supposed to look sweet, but I did know what she meant.
The party was being held in the Scout Hut just along the road which had the
advantage of proximity but the disadvantage that all three boys wanted to take themselves along to the hall to "help out" on frequent occasions throughout the lead up to "lift off." Sam and James, in particular, were busily making something called a Flower
Cake of which they seemed extremely proud though what it had to do with the party preparations was a trifle unclear. First of all I thought they meant a Flour Cake, which did have a certain ring of authenticity, but no, it turned out to be a kind of wreath
of grass, interwoven with purple flowers. I could not help noticing very similar flowers growing in the hedges of some of the gardens along their road as I trotted along to the Scout Hut but I chose to avert my eyes. What you haven't seen, you can hardly comment
One of the best parts of my grandsons' parties is that I get to meet up, three times a year, with their parents' friends and see for myself how their own little ones are growing up. This party, I also
met some new Mums and Dads, parents of Morgan's nursery friends. I look forward to meeting up with them at future parties now that I have had the pleasure of making their acquaintance.
Parties in the Scout
Hut follow a tried and tested formula. A bouncy castle, diddy cars for scooting madly around on, party tea, birthday cake (another triumph for the Darling Daughter in Law in the shape of a splendid Power Ranger helmet this time round) and, of course, the ceremonial
singing of Happy Birthday which always brings an enormous lump to my throat and tears to my eyes. As I was still recovering from the previous day's sickness bug, I was even more prone to the Usher Gene than usual, especially aware that I simply wasn't able
to be as much of a Party Helper as I like to imagine I usually am. Though possibly the main Party Organisers were thanking their lucky stars at my uncustomary Stance of Non-Intervention.
Yesterday we also
played our family's favourite party game "Tommy!" (all you need is a plate and a tube of Smarties - the old games are definitely the best games), Statues, and Pin the Tail on a Donkey. The Birthday Boy, I couldn't help noticing, managed a bit of judicious
peeping under the blindfold while his papa was momentarily diverted by someone almost running a diddy car over his big toe.
Back home we trundled with all the party remnants plus a box full of presents from
Morgan's very generous guests. These would all wait to be opened until Wednesday, which will be the actual birthday - but the presents from Mr B and me were to be opened immediately. I was so excited to watch my little Power Ranger open the knitted Minion
which I had knitted him and carefully enveloped in a protective covering of bubble wrap. Morgan was ecstatic: "Paper to pop!" he exclaimed, grabbing hold of the bubble wrap and leaving the poor old Minion abandoned on the floor. Note to other grandparents:
if you can't decide what to buy your three year old for his / her birthday, just give a large sheet of bubble wrap. It will surely be received with quite disproportionate rapture.
The following day, as in
today, I have to report that the Minion discovered his Purpose in Life - to be rescued over and over again from a burning castle by Morgan's collection of fire engines. Every Minion will have its day, as so will every Birthday Boy and Girl.
As for Young Morgan - regular readers know him as The Duracell Bunny because he never, ever stops - well, I am extremely biased of course but as far as I am concerned he is definitely One in A Minion.