Tag Archives: children’s parties in Dubai

The Christmas present conspiracy

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My boys go to separate schools. There’s a back-story behind this, which I’ll sum up in two words: waiting list. The happy side-effect of this bi-polar situation (the schools are quite different) is that while Son1 has to travel further on a bus, he loves his school.

He enjoys it for many reasons, not least because when the children have birthday parties, they get presents. This doesn’t happen at Son2’s school.

Instead, Son2’s school has a wonderful system where the mums give money (AED50) to the keeper of the birthday card, so that before a party, you’re not running around trying to find a pressie, gift wrap, Sellotape, etc. It also means that, if you’re the party host, you get a stash of cash to pay for the party buy your child something they want.

The towering pile of presents: A benefit of Son1's school

The towering pile of presents: A benefit of Son1’s school. Or money? Which system do you prefer?

Today, we held Son1’s ninth birthday party. It was an all-boy (and one girl) affair, involving 15 children, who we treated to laser tag and go-karting at Motor City, followed by pizza. To my relief, all went well – but, as I’d predicted, the presents were an issue with Son2.

“Na-na-na-nar-nar!” Son1 called out to his brother. “At MY school, you get presents.”

Son2 immediately started sobbing.

“Tell Mummy to put you on the waiting list for MY school,” Son1 helpfully suggested, as Catherine the Great and I struggled under the weight of the two huge bags of gifts we were hauling out to the car after the party.

And that’s when DH and I had an idea. Parents are so generous here, and the pile of presents really did look enormous (and excessive – I honestly wish I’d asked the mums to donate to charity instead) – and Christmas is so close. Surely Son1 wouldn’t notice if five or six of them turned into Santa presents?

I raised an eyebrow at DH. He agreed. We’d hide one bagful until Christmas, then Santa could give them to both boys. Was this ethical? Never mind. It was a done deal. It would, at the very least, stop Son2 from sobbing in the corner during the grand opening.

Well, let’s just say we very nearly got away with it. Catherine the Great successfully hid some of the wrapped-up gifts; Son1 dived into unwrapping the rest of them, giving his beloved Girl Next Door, and even long-suffering Son2, turns at opening them (they even tidied up, I’m liking nine so far!).

I sat back, watching, with a cup of tea.

Then, as the unwrapping frenzy slowed: “Mum, there was another bag. I saw it. The Toys-R-Us bag. Where is it? You know, the white bag.”

I don’t know if it was the nagging guilt I was feeling about our scheme, or the realisation that the children often tell each other what they’re giving – plus the fact parents put thought into it (hence, the Titanic jigsaw and Lego sets) – but we buckled, causing green-eyed Son2 to go totally silent and Son1 to whoop with unbridled joy.

Lucky Son1! I know I’ll regret it when it comes time to tackle the dreaded Christmas shopping. Gah.

The birthday party conveyor belt

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Son2 turned six over Eid and, being at the age where he still wants huge birthday parties attended by his whole class, I did what any self-respecting, time-poor mum would do: outsourced the whole thing.

All I had to do was send the invites and manage the guest list, but, of course, when the day dawned, I still felt that sense of trepidation that accompanies hosting a children’s party for 20, especially the first one of the school year when the mums aren’t yet jaded by sugar-fuelled class parties.

The birthday bounce: An adrenaline rush with a soft landing. What not to love?

The birthday bounce: An adrenaline rush with a soft landing. What’s not to love?

The venue was Bounce. The urban, trampoline playground loaded with springs and circus-grade sponge, in Al Quoz. Despite the Eid holiday, it seemed almost everyone could come – after all, what five year old doesn’t jump (excuse the pun) at the chance to don rainbow-coloured gripper socks and bounce off the walls?

As Son2’s classmates turned up, I literally lost count, and with three parties running simultaneously, the place was getting crowded. Fair play to Bounce though, it was organised chaos. A young, energetic bounce master took the children round all the different areas: the freestyle trampolines; the airbag-fitted section; the 45-degree trampolines; and the dodge-ball court. Not that I saw any of this: I was too busy chasing sandwich platters and persuading the venue not to give the kids coca-cola (on top of all the bouncing, ice cream cake and lolly bags, the mums would have killed me!)

Talking of the mums, it’s a new crop this year as the classes have been mixed up, so I also did my best to mingle with the ones who stayed to watch.

Thankfully, there were no injuries, and all the children safely made it to the half-hour-long food and cake part of the party, where they were rushed through a meal of chicken nuggets (I know, the healthy option, for 20, was too expensive), the singing Happy Birthday bit, and the chocolate Baskin Robbins cake.

“We’ve got about five minutes, then everyone will need to vacate,” the party master told me towards the end, eyeing his watch. And you should have seen how fast he got the children to clear the decks in preparation for the next onslaught, and how experienced he was at hurriedly sweeping everything, including the left-over cake, into black bin bags.

“How many of these parties do you have today?” I asked, out of interest, as we were shuffled out.

“22,” he replied. (I’ll repeat that, 22!) Honestly, come up with a cool new idea for children’s parties here in Dubai, and you can make a FORTUNE!

Enjoy it while it lasts kiddos: there's another 21 parties to cram in!

Big business: Enjoy it while it lasts kiddos – there’s another 21 parties to cram in!

The pre-party panic

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On Saturday morning, my four-year-old dragged me from a blissful state of slumber even earlier than normal.

I heard the pitter-patter of his feet getting louder as he crossed the landing, then within seconds he was standing by my side of the bed, squealing:

“Mummee, is it my birthday today?”

“No, it isn’t,” I mumbled, half-asleep. “That was last week.”

Then, as my brain began to muster, “Oh yes! Oh God. It’s your party!”

Everything came flooding back as I woke more fully. The venue, the cake, the number of guests expected (23, plus parents), the food. Everything had been outsourced, but I hadn’t heard from the organiser in several days, despite my attempts to wrestle the answers to a couple of questions from her.

Here are some snippets of conversation from the next few anxiety-filled hours:

They’re smiling NOW, but my face wasn’t a happy one three hours before!

LB: “Is it my party now?”

Me: “No darling, it’s after lunch.”

“She still hasn’t replied to my email.”

LB: “Is it lunchtime now?”

Me: “Six hours to go [counting the hours out on my fingers]. First breakfast, then lunch, then it’s time for your party.”

“She’s not answering her phone. WHY is she not getting back to me?” [remembering glumly how the booking was messed up to begin with)

“It’s the first party of the new school year – I blanket-invited the whole class and nearly everyone said yes!”

“What if we get there and it’s all locked up?” [cringes with the predicted embarrassment]

LB: “Can we have lunch now?”

Me: “We haven’t had breakfast yet, love.”

“Her phone is OFF. We should never have given this party a Titanic theme.”

“It’s a sinking ship” [tries to think of an escape plan and fails]

LB: “CAN.WE.GO.TO.MY.PARTY.NOW?”

After a couple of hours, DH gets in the car and drives there to put me out of my misery! “Don’t worry!’ he texts 30 minutes later. “They’re ready.”

PHEW! “And the cake?” I texted back at lightening speed.

“It’s here – pink with a princess on.” [very funny, DH!]

To be fair, the party was great – apart from the gift bags, which they forgot; the song played during Musical Chairs (Sexy and I Know It!); and the miscalculated bill. The best bit was this cake, complete with chocolate frosting waves. Thank goodness that’s over.

Party time: Wrap the mummy

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It was LB’s fourth birthday yesterday! How that went so fast, I don’t know. It honestly feels like just the other day that I was heavily pregnant in the UK and had to text my husband in Dubai at 5 in the afternoon to say:

“Can you get to London by 8am? Ghengis [yes, that was his working title!] needs to be born in the morning.”

Amazingly, DH made it! Just!

Last year, we had a very small party at home and, because BB’s birthday is the next month, we did a family day-out to Ferrari World in Abu Dhabi.

The perfect birthday outing for car-mad small boys. Surely?

“I can juggle or bend balloons – for a small fee”

They STILL haven’t forgiven me!

What they really wanted was a big playarea party – each – with all their friends, presents, cake, games, entertainment, a party host bellowing into a microphone, balloons and chaos. The kind of event that causes mummy to lose sleep and requires daddy to sell a kidney to pay for it.

So this week I’ve been busy organising LB’s out-sourced party – it won’t be anything lavish, and certainly nowhere near the scale of a birthday his brother attended earlier this year at the Atlantis hotel, with valet parking, the aquarium and Apple Mac computer room at guests’ disposal.

But, even so, it seems the tab for throwing a children’s party these days is always going to be more than you bargained for.

So far:

– Use of playarea for 2 hours CHECK

– Party host CHECK

– Kid’s meal for 20-plus children CHECK

– Cake (with Titanic picture) CHECK

– Party bags CHECK

– Catering for adult guests (so they’re not sent home needing to lie down in a darkened room and/or apply wine) CHECK

– Balloons (blue and silver) CHECK

But, wait, there’s more. You can fork out extra for a theme, or a magician. Provide a helium balloon for each child to take home. Book a sideshow, such as face painting. Or pick a couple of games for the children to play, charged per head.

And, the trouble is – such is the money-grabbing nature of the party industry – you can never be quite sure what you’ll actually get for all this expense.

“Could we have musical chairs please,” I decided when going over the details this week.

“And what’s this?” I asked, pointing at the Wrap the Mummy option, there in black-and-white on the booking form.

“Wrap the Mummy? Hmmm. I don’t actually know – we got it off the Internet,” was the reply.

“But would you like a 250 dirham piñata?”