Sun and sticky fingers

I attended the first birthday party of friends of mine's child yesterday. It was at their house and, in the garden, they'd erected a jumping castle. There was a pink cake in the shape of a number one and chocolate cupcakes with hundreds and thousands on.

I sat on the stoep with the adults, watching as their children (about fourteen of them, ranging from 3 weeks to 10 years old) bounced themselves silly. Ok, the 3 week old one didn't, neither did the 1 year old birthday girl, but the others did. They ate enormous amounts of bright pink cake, orange chips and chased that all down with vast quantities of fruit juice out of boxes with Barney the big purple dinosaur on them. And then bounced. And bounced. I, personally, chose to stay far back from said very full, very bounced children. It just seemed wise.

I went with my lovely friends D and B and their daughter (one of my favourite people), M, who is two-and-a-half. She joined the jumping throng happily, after announcing that the boys must get off to make way for the girls. I completely agreed with her - the boys were much bigger and playing rough. She, however, then played the hooligan, perfecting the 'head first off the edge' manouvre in three quick tries. Then she, obviously (being a clever cookie) decided staying on the bouncy bit was preferable to having ones head in the sand on the edge. It was at this point she also decided (to her mother's mortification) that it was a far more fun activity in the nude. So there she was, pants-less amongst the other assorted little girls in their princess outfits (the birthday girl's sister) and baby designer oufits, giggling with glee.

So I had a sun-drenched, kiddy-giggle-filled, sticky-fingered, cupcake scattered afternoon. Who could ask for more?