A few? Our little dining room table just about takes six.
'I was thinking eight,' she mused. 'Do you reckon we can do it? And by the way, do you mind going out for the night or even the weekend?'
In the end, we compromised. New Husband and I were banished to the basement along with the puppy while above us
, a stream of birthday guests arrived. Oh to be young again! (Second thoughts, forget that. It's too uncertain.) All went well until the puppy decided it needed a loo break. The only way out was through the dining room which was crammed with ten guests (how did my daughter manage that?) and out into the back garden. Multiply that by eight trips in three hours and you get the picture.
Not that they minded. The wonderful thing about having almost grown up children is that you suddenly realise you haven't done such a lousy job as a parent after all. In fact, those awful stages when they yelled and stomped and wouldn't go to bed, seem unimportant when they actually ask if you'd like to take a glass of wine with you back into the basement.
Meanwhile, the 17 year old had gone to a concert and promised faithfully to get the last train back from Euston so I didn't have to fork out for £30 for a taxi back from Watford again. So just as we get to bed at midnight, we get a phone call. He's just missed the train but there is a bus and he'll be back by 2am and don't wait up.
So of course I do because you can't sleep until they're back and besides the party was in full swing downstairs and the puppy wanted to join in. So by the time we got to bed (3am- ish), we were all dropping – only to be woken at 5am by a piercing siren because one of the guests went to the loo and I'd forgotten to tell him about the alarm which has by now, woken up the entire street.
Then someone needs to get to the station by 9.30am and someone else has run off with the burnt toast (the puppy) and all too soon, they've gone. Leaving me with chaos and memories and a 17 year old who's still in bed. And suddenly the house is terribly quiet. It almost makes me feel nostalgic for the odd toddler tantrum. Providing, of course, it's not too loud...
