Epilogue: We All Survived

 

Hello, dear reader. Here I am popping back up to write one final blog post, more than three years after my last entry. I kept thinking that inspiration would strike and I'd keep writing here sporadically about things that inspired or moved me, but I didn't.

And now here I am, one week away from having an empty nest.

Yes, that's right - by this time next week, the last of my babies will be out in the world, standing on their own two feet, living their lives and pursuing their dreams. The youngest is heading to Wellington to study. My girl went flatting last year, and my eldest left home ages ago. So this is it - I'm closing the book on my parenting journey. I'll always be a mum, and have my door open and food or beds or help ready whenever it's needed, but my day-to-day job as a hands-on parent is done. 

So I thought you deserved an epilogue. 

Not just so I can boast a bit as a proud mum, but also because it got pretty gnarly there for a while, so I wanted to leave you with some hope that if we can survive, anyone can. 

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The times they are a-changin'

It is 2020, the year the world went to hell in a handbasket. The year of Covid and lockdowns and wildfires and crazy elections. The whole world is reeling with the pace of change.

And not to be left out, here in my little corner of the world, we are also facing massive changes and the end of an era. 

You see folks, my eldest manchild, the one who made me a mother, turns 18 next month.

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How to throw a party for your teenager (the easy way)

When it comes to birthday parties, I am usually known for going over the top with party prep and creativity. For years this blog has offered tips, ideas and how to's on how to create themed birthday parties that your kid will look forward to for months and reminisce about for years.

This is not one of those parties. Those days are gone - at least when it comes to my eldest son, anyway.
These days we are teenagers; we are not little kids any more. We want our birthday parties to be "chill" and "lit". (Oldie speak = "cool" and "legit" - I think???)

Last weekend I managed to pull off a pretty "lit" party quite successfully, without embarrassing my brand-new 14-year-old - and it was really easy. Here's what ya do...

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A Ubiquitous Post about Change, New Schools & Time Flying

Look at them.
There they are all dressed up in strange new uniforms on the first day of school.
New schools for both, and a new era for us all.
One of them is off to High School. He is very chilled.
One of them is off to Intermediate. She is overwhelmed and struggling, trying to be brave.

I look at this photograph and my heart is kind of bursting. With pride, with love, with the need to throw my arms around them and squeeze them tight.
They are my babies. They are growing up. Way too fast.

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A Coming of Age Celebration (Turning 13)

A long time ago - so long ago that I can't even remember when it was - I remember hearing Ian Grant (from Parents Inc) talk about the importance of creating "marker points" for our children as they grow.

He remarked that our culture doesn't do this particularly well, we have no Bar Mitzvahs or coming of age ceremonies to mark the point where a child becomes an adult. This leaves teenagers drifting, acting like overgrown children, when in so many other cultures they are seen as young men and women from the age of 13.

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I'm the Mother of a Teenager (Help! Send Wine!)

It's official. I am now the proud owner of my very own teenager. Our eldest son turned 13 yesterday, and I'm a patchwork of emotions: I don't know whether to be nostalgic, proud or completely terrified.

The first thing I feel, as always, is WHERE HAS THE TIME GONE?

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Three Kids, Three Codes (makes for a busy day)

Three kids, three codes. I thought that was a snappy title for the craziness that is Saturday Winter Sport.
There are three kids playing three sports, all on the same morning. And two parents.
We didn't plan ahead, obviously.
How can you be in three places at once, watching three gripping sports fixtures in one morning when there's only two of you?
Very carefully, that's how.

With lots of overlapping, and driving and txting.
You leave home at 8.45am and you stagger in the door and zip off your (totally inappropriate) boots at 3.30pm.
You go through half a tank of gas. You cheer yourself hoarse.
And you enjoy every minute of it.

Welcome to Saturdays, with three sport-mad kids, playing three codes.

Scrag Plays Rugby
This is Scrag's first year giving rugby a go. It's the "rippa" version (non-tackle), and it's all about speed. Oh my goodness but I enjoyed watching this! Our tall lad is such a natural. the other parents on the sideline couldn't believe Scrag had never played before.
"Yep," I confirmed, "This is is first ever game..."
He scored three tries and came away with the Man of the Match award.
A mum from the opposing team said, "You might be mum to a future All Black!" (Haha - every Kiwi parent's dream?) We have been a soccer family since forever, so this is our first time being a rugby family. And we love it. Scrag loves it. And he's taken to it like a duck to water.

MATCH STATS: Scrag is playing for Eden Rugby Gold in the Under-7s Rippa grade, They played against another team from the same club so had to turn their shirts inside out to avoid confusion. The score was 8-7 to the other team, but a hard-fought match with three tries by Scrag. Woop!

LOGISTICS:  At 8.45am I take Scrag to his game, which kicks off at 9.15am. Mr G meets us there with Dash. He watches the first half then takes Dash to his training across town for 10am. When Scrag's game is over we get smoothies and head to Seddon Fields to watch the next match: Dash playing soccer. (Miss fab tags along with me; her game is not til later).

Dash Plays Soccer
Er, or should I say FOOTBALL? (the proper name for soccer).
Dash has played football since he was four years old, and he has always been a stand-out. This year circumstances forced us to try out for a new club, so  with a new team, a new coach and now playing on a full sized pitch, things are pretty exciting on the football front too.
Dash has always dreamed of being a professional footballer. He's pretty gosh darned good too, so you never know....

MATCH STATS: Dash plays 13th grade football for Western Springs Vespers (the club's second team). First game of the season, they played against a team from Manurewa, the score was 8-0 to us, including a great goal by Dash. Dash plays mostly in the midfield.

LOGISTICS: The game kicked off at 11am and I really should have planned ahead and got a ride for Miss fab to her pre-game training so I could watch all of Dash's game, but no. Instead I got to see the first half, then scurried off to brave the madness of Lincoln Rd traffic to get Miss Fab to her training on time. We were fifteen minutes late and it took me 25 minutes to find a carpark...

Miss Fab Plays Netball
Last year we had to give Netball a miss because the match day was Wednesday which clashed with Miss Fab's true passion, Cheerleading. This year my friend Justine took it upon herself to start a team playing in the Saturday league, so our two cheerleading girls could play netball as well. Justine is THE BEST coach ever. Gosh but she pulls awesomeness out of the girls in her team! The best kind of coach - encouraging, tough, firm and passionate about the game. We are super lucky to have her, and Miss Fab is loving being able to play netball again.

MATCH STATS: Our new team is called the Boston Bolts (and we have snazzy new uniforms and personalised hoodies sourced by the amazing Justine). Our first grading game happened to be against THE top team from THE top league, who won the whole thing in the highest grade last year, apparently. They were tough. But we took the game to them and made them work for their win. the score was 19-10 to them, which doesn't reflect how awesomely our girls played. Super proud netball mums all round.

LOGISTICS: After dropping Miss fab off at her training 15 minutes late at the madness that is (Ti Pai Netball courts) I drove around for 25 minutes before I found a carpark. The game started at 12.45 and we were done by 2pm, but decided to go shopping for winter clothes afterwards(what was I thinking?). So yeah.

At 3.30pm I limped in the front door, dropped the shopping bags on the floor and unzipped my boots. Six hours of standing and walking in wedge boots = not a great move. Next time I'll know better.
Cos next Saturday we'll do it all again (and we can't wait).


P.S. This post is for you Grandma, Aunty Irene, Uncle Allan, Nan and Grandad.

This is Not a Party Post (I have a 12 year old )

I didn't realise (nobody told me) that hosting a party for twelve years olds is just not the same as doing parties for younger children.
The kids are different - they're "Cooler" (as in: "Don't be too enthusiastic in case someone thinks you actually want to be here"; "Don't look an adult in the eye or do anything more than grunt when they greet you, they might expect you to talk to them.")

Dash, bless him, did try to warn me, kind of.
He said months ago, before I was knee deep in mockingjays and district symbols, "Mum, kids my age don't really have theme parties; maybe I could just have a few friends over..."
Did I listen? NO, course not.
I replied, "Son, nobody your age has theme parties because their parents don't know how to do them like we do. Trust me, your friends will love it!"

[The Birthday Boy helped me make the cardboard cornucopia]

Later, when I pulled out the pink wig I bought to wear as Effie Trinkett... Dash was in horrors.
"NO mum! PLEASE don't dress up as Effie Trinkett! It would be so embarrassing!"
"What??? But I'm going to be Effie and I'm going to make Dad be Caesar Flickerman... it will be funny!"
"Noooooo mum! Seriously, I'd be so embarrassed!"

I put the pink wig back in the drawer, sadly. No Effie Trinkett. No Caesar Flickerman. We are dealing with Tweens, who are highly sensitive to embarrassment. I didn't know - but I do now.

I put in loads of work on this party - partly because I LOVE Hunger Games and was having a blast coming up with the ideas, and partly because I really wanted my (easily embarrassed) son to have the BEST BIRTHDAY EVER. Of course.

But it turns out that I needn't have bothered, really.
Not that his friends didn't like it, they did. Apparently. From the txts I got from parents later.
Just at the time, you'd never know it.

Then yesterday one of Dash' friends was over and he said to me, "Simone, that was the best party EVER on Saturday!" and my heart lept.
THIS is why I do the parties, make a fuss creating the atmosphere, spend weeks on  creating all the details...
So what did this boy love so much about the party...? I couldn't wait to hear. Was it the hand stamped district bands? The Capitol Water Bottles? The stencilled Mockingjay victor's bags...?

"The water fight! It was AWESOME! We got to just throw water at each other and go crazy... it was THE BEST!"

The water fight. Not the party Mellark Bakery signs, or the stencilled Mockingjays or the cardboard cornucopia... just the chance to throw water at each other.
Ha. there you go Simone, let that be a lesson to ya!

I have a twelve year old son. His friends are tweens of various stripes.
Some we know, some we don't know at all.
Some we have a great relationship with and have known before they were "cool" (THOSE are the ones who would have enjoyed Effie and Caesar making an appearance).
Others we've only recently met, some just on the day (the ones who wouldn't look us in the eye, who acted like they didn't want to appear like they were having too much fun).

I learnt a lot from this birthday, and I now know that after a certain point, everything changes.
We're at that point now.
Dash has probably had his LAST theme party. Waaaaaaah :(
He doesn't WANT theme parties any more.

He said months ago (and I quote), "Mum I think I'm getting too old for theme parties..."
And I said, "But Dash! Theme parties are what I DO! It's what I'm good at! Just think of all the cool themes we can do now you're older... Survivor, Amazing Race, Fear Factor..."

What I was really thinking was "Don't cut off my source of blog material! Don't tell me it's over!"

This weekend we pulled off a party that (on the surface of it) was cool in every detail but somehow just lacked the .... heart. The buzzy feeling of celebrating with your son's besties on his special day in a way that is super fun. The kind of party that leaves you with a warm fuzzy feeling.

That's what parties are for.
Somehow, whether it was that the numbers were too big (12?!), that a number of the usual long-time friends couldn't make it and there were a bunch of kids we didn't know, or whether the few "too cool" kids that walked in looking unimpressed loomed too large in my mind... I don't know.

(Though they don't look unenthusiastic in this IG selfie and the birthday boy called it an "unforgettable day")

I just know that I won't be doing that again. Not on that scale. Not for that many. Not for this age group.
Next year, just a couple of besties. No party. Just a celebration.
And guess what? My twelve year old is super happy with that plan.
I'm half sad and half relieved.

Bottom line, I have a twelve year old son and everything's different. He's seriously growing up.


Happy 12th birthday Dash.
YOU ARE AWESOME.
.................

DISCLAIMER: The Hunger Games Party Posts will follow soon... because even if it wasn't my favourite-feeling party, it was still AWESOME. And I did work my butt off. And Dash called it an Unforgettable Day.

Meanness, Vulnerability and Social Media (a mother's rant)

All he wanted for Christmas was an iPod 5. After much negotiation, a handy discount and some birthday money thrown in, we wrapped up the device and put it under the Christmas Tree.

(He's 11, off to Intermediate, all his friends have them).

There were rules of course. No Facebook. A private profile on Instagram. We know his passwords, follow his feed and regularly screen his posts, checking for swearing, bullying, rudeness and other dodgyness in the posts of those he follows. Anyone we see doing anything less than kosher is immediately deleted and blocked. And if he were to be found participating in anything dodgy? He would lose his right to an Instagram account. Those are the rules, which he agreed to and followed.

So my feed is dotted with his selfies, and we check his account on a regular basis. A few people have been deleted along the way - some swearing, some minor rudeness - enough to block them but nothing sinister.
Until last night.

He comes into the kitchen holding his ipod, his shoulders slumped.
"I've just been bullied on Instagram..." he says.
Parenting protective radar kicks in.
We grab the device and pepper him with questions: who? what? how?

It seems that no matter how many rules and boundaries you put in place to protect your child, nothing can completely shield them from meanness that gets personal.

We're not even talking trolls or cyber-stalkers here, but a couple of immature kids who once played on his football team.

It all started with one of those silly "vote them out" games kids play on IG. Someone puts up a collage of faces, tags in a bunch of their friends and then invites people to "vote them out". The last kid standing gets TEN CENTS and winner's kudos. Ha. Silly, right?
Yes, but not harmless. Not when you vote someone out and they turn on you with viciousness in a personal attack. Then it's not a silly game for ten cents and bragging rights - then it can be crushing.

"F U Dash! Your just a stupid crybaby who cries every time they get beat in soccer!"

It was like a knife to the heart when I read what that boy wrote. He has no idea what my child goes through or what it has taken to get to the place where he can manage his emotions. He has a vulnerability, an Achilles heel (most of us do) and that boy turned a silly game into a personal attack on a weak point.

It hurts to be judged. It hurts to be misunderstood.
All of us have been there at times, and the online world is riddled with people who are quick to judge and quick to condemn. That makes it a potentially dangerous place for those who are vulnerable.

I'm not at liberty to share with you Dash's struggle (though he has bravely shared with his whole class, he doesn't want me to "tell the whole world" here on my blog, so I respect his wishes). Suffice it to say that the message that boy posted so publicly on Instagram calling my son a cry baby attacked him right where he wears no armour.

Another boy joined in at that point, agreeing with the first boy. Both previous team-mates. Both boys who had seen my son in his weakness and judged him for it.
(I deleted and blocked both boys immediately. Dash just doesn't need people like that looking over his shoulder, commenting on his life and judging it).

Afterwards, as I rubbed my son's back and tried to let words of encouragement pour oil on his wounds I talked to him about how far he's come, how hard he's worked, how much progress he's made.
How he doesn't need to let other people's judgement take away from who he is.

This article makes me sick to my stomach - the author has obviously never experienced depression or
she would never have written such a pile of nasty drivel. Poor Charlotte Dawson,
still hounded and misunderstood even when she's dead. Shame on you Deborah Hill Cone! But then she apologises here -
after getting a rather awful taste of Charlotte's medicine in the backlash that followed -
which goes to show that what goes around comes around. Well done Deborah Hill Cone. Apology accepted.

And I told him the story of Charlotte Dawson. Hounded by trolls and the media. More vulnerable than most to nastiness, as the Black Dog of depression chased her down. If only she could have not listened to those who were kicking her where she was weakest (deleted her Twitter account?) then maybe she wouldn't have gotten so low that she took her own life.

But sometimes we are drawn back to the source of the pain, like a mouth ulcer we just can't help poking our tongue into. We can't leave it alone. And for people like poor Charlotte whose vulnerability is out in the open for all the world to see, they are sitting ducks for the nasty side of human nature.

There's nothing I hate more than meanness and bullying. I despise it.
I know that it is out there in the world, running rampant through social media and the schoolyard - so what will my response be in order to protect my children?
Will I throw the baby out with the bathwater, and delete my son's Instagram account completely because there is a chance he might come across meanness? Because he is more vulnerable than most?
I will if I have to but at this point I think we can both learn a lot from the experience.

We can keep doing what we've been doing. Keep a close eye on things, talk things through, respond quickly and model wisdom, common sense and kindness.
We can give good advice (and then follow it ourselves): Keep the mean rude people as far away from you as possible. Pick and choose your friends carefully (both online and in real-life). Don't invite trouble. Don't engage in debate with people who misjudge you and say cruel things - walk away and cut those meanies out of your life. Don't repay back evil for evil, because then they have succeeded in dragging you down to their level.

I told Dash I don't want him joining in those Instagram games anymore. He can't help it if people tag him, but I don't want him to participate. No voting. No commenting.

Social media can be fun but it can turn nasty in seconds. Vote out the wrong person on a silly game and they can turn on you, kicking you where it hurts.

Social media is a huge part of today's landscape; There is meanness in the online world and there are bullies; I want my son to learn how to cope with both when he comes across them, rather than run screaming for the hills and simply ban everything.

Social media in and of itself is neutral - it's as evil or as good as the people using it.
My job as a parent is to guide my child through the minefield and teach him how to conduct himself well and bounce back from the knocks while providing boundaries to protect him as much as possible.

What would you have done in this situation? Have you experienced any cyber bullying - either you or your kids? What has been your response?

The PhoneCall Every Mother Dreads...

I was in the middle of painting my kitchen when the phone call came.
The windowsills had been sanded and primed; the first coat of faded vintage green was gracing two walls.
I was just rinsing the brushes, anticipating a sandwich break when the telephone interrupted my DIY.

"Hi.... Simone? It's Sue here from the Intermediate School. We need you to get here right away..."

My heart sank. Oh no. What's he done? Is he in trouble? My mind started racing as I braced myself for bad news... but I was on the completely wrong track.

"We've called an ambulance, there's been an accident. He is conscious but we're very worried about him. The paramedics are on their way... how fast can you get here?"

Worse. This was so much worse than being called to school for an altercation or some other disciplinary thing. They've called an ambulance. For my son.

I dropped everything. I got there as fast as I could.



It's every mother's worst nightmare. Serious injury to your child which could have repercussions for their future. Damage to the neck or spine. That's what they told me they were worried about when I got to the school.

A much bigger boy had tripped and landed on Dash's head/neck while playing soccer. Yes, soccer. Hardly the kind of sport you think might result in your kid being carted away in an ambulance. It's not like he plays rugby or ice hockey after all.
But then, who would have ever thought a kid could crack their wrist doing swimming either?
Not your usual.

So there I am in the sick bay, with anxious staff offering me cups of tea (for the shock) while the paramedics poke and prod my child who is conscious but hardly responsive. He doesn't reply to questions, his face is white as a sheet with two bright red spots on his cheeks. his eyes keep drifting closed and he is shaking.

I feel a bit removed, weirdly calm.
Maybe it's all the practise I've had up at A&E but somehow I'm not panicking.

Until I can't get hold of Mr G whose phone is switched off. And I remember that he told me he'd be out at a work thing all afternoon, incommunicado, home late.
It's nearly 2pm now, an hour til the other two kids finish school for the day.
This is when my amazing community rallies round. I call a friend, she says sure she can pick up Scrag and Fab, take them home. She has to go out at 5pm though, so I know I need a backup plan. Another friend says, sure she will take them from then until I can get hold of daddy. (She even goes and picks them up for me.) Relief and gratitude overwhelm me; now I don't have to worry about my other babies, I can just focus on the injured one.

My son is stretchered off into the ambulance, headed for Starship children's hospital.
As I drive across the city to the hospital in a state of freakishly calm not-quite-shock, I pray for my boy.
Let him be OK; let there be no permanent damage; let this freak accident not affect his future.
Every mother's wish for their child when they get the phone call they dread the most.

[Dash has been accepted into the Auckland Football Federation talent development Academy]

Hours later, after a CT scan, lots of txting, praying and a lemonade iceblock, Dash is looking more himself. He has come out of that awful shock, he is talking again. The weird pallor has gone and normal colour has returned to his cheeks.
He can't remember the accident, he doesn't remember getting to the sick bay (he was carried by his friends, they told me later.)
The doctor has good news: the scan is clear. No neck or spinal injury. Nothing permanent.

The conclusion: Concussion.

No sport or exercise for at least a week. No AFF Football Academy; no team training. Take things very slowly. Stay quiet.
And be very very thankful it wasn't a whole lot worse.


P.S. How ridiculous is it that this time last week my post was about Miss Fab and her injury-proneness and cast collection??? Does this happen to anybody else?

Dash Says Goodbye to School *sniff*

Today is the end of an era: my big boy, Dash, is waving goodbye to primary school forever. Somehow I never thought this day would come. Sure the world would keep turning and days would keep passing, but how could it ever really BE that my son would be old enough to graduate from primary school and leave those precious little-boy days behind him so soon???

The only way I can process it is to write. To share photos collected through the primary school years and to hold onto this moment, these last few hours when all my children are in one beloved familiar place - our local school.



Next year brings a whole new learning experience and all the challenges that will go with it as he heads off to Intermediate. Catching a bus every day across the city. A new teacher for every class. Greater independence. New as-yet-unknown pressures. It's scary. Not just for him (he is remarkably relaxed about the whole thing) but for me. I don't know what to expect. I don't know how he will go.
I do know that things will be hugely different, never the same again.

[Dash on Road Patrol this year]

This year has been something of a miracle. We have been blessed with a phenomenal teacher who really really likes my child. It has made all the difference. This combined with a wonderful in-school tutor, some great friends and a whole lot of hard work has seen my boy apply himself and really try at school for the first time in years. 

[Dash on his last day this morning]

He knows he has worked hard. We know it. We are proud of him, and he is proud of himself.
Although there were no awards handed out at prizegiving, we felt his efforts (and the other two kids' as well) were worthy of acknowledgement, so we took the kids out for a special dinner and gave them certificates of our own.

[Gifts for the teacher: Homemade Rocky Road and a copy of my book]

Now here I sit. The teacher gifts have been given. Tears pricked at eyelids. Hugs were lingering and the thanks were profuse. It's the end of an era. I don't know if I'm ready for it, to be honest.

As the saying goes, in parenthood the days are long but the years are short. And now I'm discovering just how very true that is. Way, way too true.
*sniff*

Army Combat Party (a fun adventure)

When your kids get older, they start to get very definite ideas about what they want in a birthday party and for the past year all Dash has wanted to do for his 11th birthday is go to Laser Combat (a cross between laser tag and paintball). So an army-themed party it had to be.

With the laser combat part taking up most of the afternoon, I still wanted to have food and hang-out time at home (I do love an at-home party) so wanted to create an Army H.Q. at home where we would assemble before the battle, then regroup for food and cake.

I have to admit I had rather a lot of fun creating this one. The styling had to avoid anything too babyish or cute; it needed to be rugged with a slice of "cool" for a bunch of adventurous 11-year old boys. I think we pulled it off...

[Pallets recycled from the dump - stencil tutorial here; camo duvet cover found on TradeMe for $2;
cargo net from Ali Express with free shipping]

I turned the carport into an Army H.Q. Mess Hall/Rec Room. Stencilled Pallet signs, old canvas camp stretchers, sacking, some camo no-sew bunting and a camouflage cargo net all helped to create a great army atmosphere.

My trusty lemonade stand did duty as a Hydration Station...

[coffee sacks $2 from Geoff's Emporium, camo cups from Kiwi Cakes, Army soda label printables on ginger beer bottles here; genuine army water bottle brought back from China; no-sew bunting tutorial here]

The recruits congregated first at the Army H.Q. where they made use of the Rec Hall (foozeball, soccer) until the convoy was ready to depart for the battlefield. Off to Laser Combat we went.

This is "Magic", the guy who brought Laser Combat to New Zealand. He has created the ultimate place for adventure-loving boys (and girls) in Riverhead Forest.

The legend goes that he's ex-Army (ex-SAS, say the boys, who gaze at him wide-eyed as he gives them their briefing).

As the boys gear up and slap camo on each other's faces you can feel the excitement building. Some of the boys have played before and know they're in for a great adventure. The rookies are excited too; the minute they lay their eyes on those laser guns they realise this is going to be awesome. Me? I'm starting to wish I was playing...

It's just like indoor laser tag; each "soldier" wears  a sensor on their head, which records when you are hit. Each team has a "medic box" which acts as each team's base and records the team's data; when someone is "killed" (after being shot five times) they go back to the medic box and "respawn".

Magic shows the boys how to use the gear, how to stay safe, how to be commandos.
"If you do this, it's all good, but if you do that, it's not good times... not good times at all," he says (and the boys come home quoting him, haha.)

I think this is seriously the coolest game ever. It's like laser tag but without the claustrophobia; like paintball but without the pain. It's the best of both worlds.

[my dad was especially requested by Dash to play laser combat; he's in his late sixties but he had an absolute blast and came back telling of how he lay dead-still in the grass while Mr G stood right over him, hunting him, but not seeing him.]

The two teams did battle while the party slaves had to go home and get the food ready. Sniff. I so wish I could have played. They all came back to base raving about the fun they'd had. Memories were made, people. And the birthday boy finally got his wish.

After all that crawling through the forest playing sniper, those lads were starving hungry by the time they got back to H.Q. So we fed them...

Camouflage cupcakes, army men cookies, chips and "parfaits"; a fruit platter, carrot sticks... and hot dogs (which *oops* exploded in the pot cos I left them in the water too long, so no photos of them).

[camo cupcakes; edible army men lollies from Kiwi Cakes]

I also laid out for the recruits, their stencilled army t-shirts (I found t-shirts online for $2 each, so I couldn't resist doing one for each of them) and hand-stamped metal dog-tags...

I am rather proud of these, and it must be said that the lads thought they were awesome too (and have been observed afterwards wearing them proudly around the place). Just the right amount of army cool...

Before we served cake, Sergeant G couldn't resist challenging the recruits to an impromptu assault course, to test their mettle...

Nothing like a bit of climbing, swinging, crawling and a few pushups on a full stomach...

And finally, it was time to sing happy birthday to our special 11-year-old (it was his actual birthday) and blow out the candles on what one of his pals called "an epic cake".

The cake was a "battlefield" - with camo on the inside. Remarkably simple to do, but so effective (battlefield cake tutorial here)...

All in all a fabulous birthday celebration, and loads of very cool adventurous fun was had by all. (P.S. Magic is making a video for me of the our session at Laser Combat; when it's ready I'll add it in here so you can all see how fab it is)

• Army Party prep and Free Printables
• Battlefield Camouflage Cake & Camo Cupcakes Tutorial
• Camo party supplies on KiwiCakes
• Laser Combat Website