One of the many benefits of my three-year-old son, Edgar, not being on social media is that he won’t see the Instagram pictures of Wilf Johnson’s 4th birthday party. Edgar’s little jaw would drop if he knew that Wilf, who is Boris and Carrie Johnson’s eldest son, had a monster truck and dinosaur party with a dinosaur mascot, a professional entertainer, a bespoke balloon display AND a monster truck bouncy castle with separate ball pit. I can just picture the scene: Wilf and his pre-schooler pals tearing around the rented hall on the mother of all sugar highs while Carrie and Boris chat with their parent mates, relieved to have outsourced every aspect of the chaos to people who know what they’re doing.
It’s the kind of party Edgar dreams of having – and that the older generation would consider completely over the top. Most of us remember our childhood birthday parties as a small gathering at home with tea, cake and pass-the-parcel, but for today’s parents, it’s become a highly pressurised and often eye-wateringly expensive affair – which is why we’ve decided to ditch them altogether and go back to small, family parties.
But as a mother of three older children as well as Edgar and his little sister, I don’t begrudge Carrie. She’s only doing what all the other parents at Wilf’s nursery do. It’s now normal to hire an entertainer for a party, along with a bouncy castle or soft play equipment. Even at toddlers’ birthdays, I’ve seen balloon displays and bespoke cakes – reflecting the theme of course. Parents are working so hard that they simply don’t have the time to arrange these themselves. And of course there’s the renting of a hall or venue – unless your house is big enough to accommodate the whole class of children.
Research by Sainsbury’s suggests that the average parent spends £278.70 on their child’s birthday but if you ask Mumsnet it’s more often around £500.
Yes, the whole class. This is another reason children’s parties have, in my opinion, become so ridiculous: parents have begun inviting their child’s whole class – and it’s even encouraged at some nurseries and primary schools. It’s the kindest way, of course, but it is brutal for parents who are faced with up to 30 children on the guestlist before they’ve even accounted for other friends and family.
I told myself I’d keep my children’s parties small and simple, and yet when my eldest turned three I wimped out and booked a puppet show. I was intimidated by the thought of 15 nursery school children in my house expecting to be entertained. The following year, once he’d started school and the guestlist had swollen to 25, I splurged on Sharky & George, the same entertainer the Royals use. It was worth every penny. There was no way I was going to attempt to entertain that many four and five year-olds myself – think of the potential humiliation. Instead, two bright-eyed jobbing actors turned up with a bunch of games and props to guarantee every single child had a memorably good time. I didn’t have to make small talk with the young guests for so much as a second. The entertainers told them jokes during tea and handed out party bags as they left.
I scrimped on helium balloons and expensive tablescapes, taking the view that I’d invested in the entertainment, which was surely the only thing children cared about, but mine surprised me by pleading (unsuccessfully) for themed plates and napkins. There’s a whole industry out there to help parents keep up with the Jones’s when it comes to balloon arrangements, cakes, tablescapes and party bags and as children bounce from one lavish themed party to the next, they develop strong views – even the three and four year olds have opinions. I’d love to know what was in Wilf’s party bags: my spoilt children have walked away from friends’ parties with brownie baking kits, boxes of Lego and caps personalised with their names.
If Carrie’s lucky, she’ll get away with the church hall/entertainer/bouncy castle model for another year but after that Wilf’s parties will step up another gear. When mine turned seven, it was all about trampolining and Go Ape; then it was laser tag and karting. By the time they were nine, a good party meant being bussed to a paintballing venue outside London, returning to town for a private movie screening and pizza. I would never have had the energy or the budget to organise a party like this myself but when my third son was invited to share an indoor climbing party with four others, I gave in, even though it was costing a bomb. It was a wild and raucous affair, followed by tea but there were so many people that my son kept getting separated from his friends. Afterwards he asked, “when is my real birthday party?”
“What do you mean your real birthday party?” I said, twitching with irritation.
“The one with family and my best friends. Can we get pizza?”
It dawned on me then that he hadn’t particularly enjoyed his big, impersonal party. He hadn’t spoken to anyone bar his good friends and he hadn’t felt special when four different yet equally elaborate cakes were carried out (and one ropey homemade one, which was his). He’d finally reached birthday party saturation point and his other brothers agreed that they had, too.
I don’t think we’re the only family to have given up on birthday parties. Carrie will find the invitations – and the pressure – drop away as her children reach the age of nine and ten. These days we have happily low key affairs; a day dedicated to spending time together as a family or maybe with a couple of good friends, with a homemade cake and time to open and play with presents. For my second son’s 10th birthday in the Easter holidays, he enjoyed a very cold swim in the sea with his brothers, followed by lunch out, then birthday tea with his grandparents. He said it was his best birthday ever and I think for the first time he meant it.
I’m not going to get away with this with Edgar, though, or his little sister, Isadora. With two little ones in the house, I’ve got a few more big fat children’s parties on the horizon. Over the past year in nursery, Edgar has attended some top-drawer bashes and he’s thinking big for his own birthday.
“I want an animal party,” he tells me.
“What does that involve?” I ask nervously.
“Animal toys and animal cake and dressing up in animal costumes. And a paddling pool and games and all my friends with presents.”
I agree that this sounds amazing but alas his birthday happens to be in August, when all his friends are on holiday – including us.