How to Survive Your Daughter's 18th Birthday Party

Our daughter just turned 18 and her dearest wish was to have a garden party in her own home.  We've never 'done' a party before.  This is the chronicle of angst leading up the big event.  I'm sure other parents of teenagers will recognise it.

This was a party of many phases.

First of all, there was The Fantasy Party; Daughter's desire to celebrate her birthday in a memorable way, bringing together the many disparate elements of her social life as guests in her own home at last.  After announcing her intentions on Facebook and generously inviting 50 people, she pictured to us, her astounded, hard pressed and poverty stricken parents, with many a sweep of her skinny arm, the dance floor (aka the Dining Room - just remove the dining table and install simultaneously piped music indoors and out, moody lighting and erect a dance pole); the BBQ Patio (just sweep away the bins, the plant pots and the cat and install benches, lighting, a bin full of iced beer, outdoor speakers, outdoor cinema projection - oh! and a new grill); the main Gathering Point, the 'Lawn' (just dump the trampoline, cover up the 5mx6m bare patch underneath that the cats have been using as a toilet for the last 6 years, spirit away the 3 rusting bikes, the rickety lawn mower, the roof rack, the two rotting sets of bicycle tyres (one 'Commuter' and one ' Off Road' ), decrepit garden tools and various other detritus and install more benches, parasols and fairy lights and, finally, the 'Chill Out Zone', aka 'The Bottom of the Garden' or 'The Land Beyond Hadrian's Wall', a magnificent, raised path structure that D spent several weeks constructing a couple of years ago (just dig up a 5mx6m area of waist high 'meadow', cover up the bare earth with err...something or other, and install large, waterproof beanbags, a fire pit, subdued lighting and a 'shisha' pipe.  Oh, and we'll need somewhere for people to leave their coats and bags and somewhere for them to sleep over....That was 2 months ago.

The next phase was Denial.  Yes, she was entitled to ask.  OK, we would attempt to get rid of the trampoline but this party was not happening, not a chance.  We would be delighted to clear up the bottom of the garden but no party, oh no; too many imponderables.  What if teenagers got 'squiffy' and trod on the woodruff that is planted densely either side of Hadrian's Wall? Or tumbled drunkenly into the canal and couldn't swim?  or contracted Lymes disease? Or became prey to the local drug dealers? Or texted all their friends and the guest list swelled to 150?  Or, as happened at a niece's party, someone shouted 'GUN!' and 150 drunken teenagers ran panic-stricken through the house smashing windows?  D went sullenly into his 'cave' (reference 'Men are from Mars Women are from Venus') to contemplate a ‘SOLUTION’ while I pratted about taking measurements, making lists and collecting jam jars from the neighbours and girls at work to make candle lanterns.  I scoured EBay for cheap and cheerful lighting solutions and discovered Sky Lanterns."Very pretty!" I thought, and bought 20.  After all, they had to come all the way from China.  I dreamily pictured the lanterns floating off from the bottom of the garden like so many butterflies, soaring romantically over the trees in Vicky Park and eventually fading into the distance....Daughter, meanwhile, happily began to compile her playlist on Spotify. 5 hours of dire pop music.  (Where did we go wrong?)

Then came Anger.  Several attempts to 'Sit down and talk about 'The Party' ended in walkouts and slammed doors.  Sometimes even Daughter got a little miffed as well.  After several frustrating encounters with the local 'Salt of the Earth' types (you know, Morons) who couldn't be bothered to actually read the description of the trampoline on offer FREE to anyone who would come along and dismantle it ('It's too big!'; 'We thought it would be round and have a net enclosure'; 'You didn't say how much do you want for it') The trampoline finally went to good home - 3 boys under 10.  I tentatively offered up to D items on EBay for consideration that might serve to solve some of the practical problems: coconut matting? A second hand marquee?  And got yelled at for my trouble.  We stared forlornly at the bare brown earth exposed by the trampoline's departure and tried to imagine teenaged girls - in heels - dancing on this

very spot...At this point a routine building inspection - we are privileged to live in a Housing Co - operative - revealed that the blown plaster on the dining room wall must have been caused by the fact that there was no lintel over the window.  No plaster on the walls in time for the party.   By chance (well, actually, a text from Daughter informing me that she had accessed my Paypal Account to buy a black, steel re-enforced corset and long black gloves) I discovered that this was to be a costume party, with prizes.  The 'Building Site Look' could inspire a theme, perhaps?  At this low point, eaten up with anxiety about the possibility of torrential rain on the Big Day and nowhere indoors fit for habitation, the family on both sides of the Atlantic unexpectedly came to the rescue.  Cash and cheques for Daughter's Big Birthday appeared simultaneously from North Wales and North America.  Daughter had worked 5 Sundays in May and earned a small fortune and she insisted on paying for food and drink.  She also paid for a new, bigger BBQ grill.....  D found someone who could lend a projector, fairy lights and ASTROTURF!  He also discovered a suitable furniture hire company and negotiated hard with them for beanbags, parasols, benches, fire pits etc.  There was no wriggling out of it.  Resistance was futile.   We began to check the weather forecast hourly. 

Acceptance.  The Party was inevitable.  We signed the furniture hire agreement, I drew up the final plans of the house and garden, made the final, definitive shopping lists, decorated the final jam jar with sweet wrappers and purchased paper plates.  We'd reached the point of no return.  Thursday.  The bark chippings arrived for the bottom of the garden and I helped D ferry them through the house.  Friday.  8:00am.  The lorry arrived.  A great boy rang the doorbell and, on enquiry, informed me that he had a load of garden furniture.  "Of course you have!"  I rejoindered and proceeded to guide him and his sidekick through the intricate, dog leg route to the back garden 

unscathed.  Then I went to work and left D to it.  Later that afternoon I found him fixing metal brackets on one of the benches, which was not so much Shabby Chic as Bloody Dangerous.  That evening, we visited a local cut - price outlet to buy beer & wine on the recommendation of a neighbour.  This is an establishment where the customers are so bright that they duck under the trolley barrier to gain access to the shop and act threatened when you say 'excuse me' as you pass them in the aisle.  After much frantic finger action on the Iphone's calculator function, we were relieved to discover that Waitrose's specials that weekend were actually cheaper and we left in a hurry before I lost the will to live.  Much later that evening we decided to put up Daughter's dance pole and discovered that it was just shy of the ceiling by 40mm.  She needed an extension.  David decided to play with the projector and discovered that he had forgotten to collect the necessary cables.  Later still he realised that he would need to get hold of another Airport Express to make the music work outdoors - oh and download some more software.

Saturday.  5:30 am found D and I staring miserably at the steady rain that had fallen relentlessly through the night.  We couldn't do anything until we'd put down the Astroturf.  We couldn't put down the Astroturf until it STOPPED RAINING.  Daughter went to Music School as usual and D went shopping for technology.  Boyfriend's mum rang to insist that we use their spare room that night and leave the kids to it.  I was very clear in my mind about this.  I wasn't leaving the house.  I was going to sit on the porch in a rocking chair with my shotgun across my knee, swigging from a jug of moonshine and knitting.  No gatecrashers, no drug dealers, no irate neighbours....!  I was particularly anxious about the neighbours, especially the 'Next Door But Ones' who haven't spoken to us for years over some long forgotten, imaginary slight and who have a very big, black dog.  On D's return we again attempted to set up Daughter's dance pole - nothing doing.  We couldn't make it safe enough. It might have worked just for Daughter to show off on but if some great hulking lad had decided to show everyone how it's done....it 

didn't bear thinking about.........!  pratting about with the dance pole had wasted a lot of time and we were behindhand with the food prep and the garden layout.  Around Midday it stopped raining finally and D and I ventured out to lay Astroturf.  EASY!  I highly recommend it as a solution for turning Soweto into The Savoy at a moment's notice.  Just be sure to have enough long garden staples to fix it down with or it becomes a trip hazard.  Every bench was triple handled back and forth - I couldn't straighten up my back for hours after - The parasols levelled up with shovels full of bark chippings and plant pots jauntily angled for maximum effect - even pots of chives and straggly strawberry plants pressed into service.  Candle lanterns primed, wicks trimmed, tapers at the ready.  Pea lights on, electrics tested, BBQ lit.  The first guests arrived, with Daughter, from Music School.  All boys (one of them wearing a dress and Doc marten's, I remember) they immediately fled upstairs on mass to watch Wimbledon.  So much for our room being out of bounds.  How would that ever have been enforceable, anyway?  Meanwhile, Daughter went into her room to change into her costume:  Vampire Slayer, of course.  The plan had been that a few, maybe a dozen guests, would arrive early, with Daughter, and be hungry.  All the rest wouldn't arrive till much later, squiffy and not interested in food at all except nibbles.  Scratch that.  By 7:00pm ALL the guests had arrived because they'd heard there would be a BBQ and they were all hungry.  D and I laboured to feed the spavined teenagers.  At one point I remember being accosted by an anxious youth in a home made devil outfit with horns that obscured his eyes.  "I like your costume."  I said, lamely.  "When will the chicken wings be ready?" he demanded, anxiously.  Later I realized that had been a boy I've known since a baby.  In desperation, D hurriedly prepared a whole roasting tray full of potato wedges, doused with garlic and olive oil and herbs.  He brought the offering forth and the teenagers fell to like harpies, picking it clean in seconds.  In response to 

the pitiful whining of vegetarian girls, it's always the girls, D broke open a couple of blocks of Halloumi cheese and prepared it for roasting.  Soon gone.  The sausages and home made burgers melted away and then we remembered we'd forgotten the popcorn.  Oh, and the Birthday Cake....  

Now, it just so happened that several months previously, Daughter had applied for her own Co-op membership.  Normally, an applicant would simply attend the next general meeting but for some reason this didn't happen and Daughter ended up making her speech to the committee about how co-operatively minded she is dressed in a black corset and killer boots; suspender belt over black hot pants and black stockings with dragons printed down the side, a cute little dagger tucked into a stocking top.  Oh, and black lipstick.  That was at 7:30 and we were left to minister unto her guests without her for about 40 minutes, which was nerve wracking.  We felt like Gate - Crashers.  Come to think of it, I've had no feedback yet from anyone on the committee regarding Daughter's startling appearance...  The corset didn't last long anyway; too uncomfortable.  During her absence, Daughter's best friend appeared at the door carrying a cake she herself had made as a surprise.  Best Friend calmly iced and decorated it, only miss - spelling one word:  'Happy Bitday' it said.  Later, when it was getting dark and the pea lights were twinkling, everyone gathered at the bottom of the garden by the canal to sing 'Happy Birthday', Daughter blew out the candles, making a wish in time - honoured tradition, and everyone had a morsel of quite the lightest and most delicious cake ever made by one friend for another.  I watched from a demure distance; there was no standing room left down that end of the garden anyway and I wanted to absorb the atmosphere unobserved.  Well all right I was being a voyeur.  Boyfriend, unfortunately, had my camera in his pocket and was too involved in singing raucously to think of taking pictures.  If any pictures do emerge from a different 

source I'll be sure to include them another time.  After the cake ceremony, I was followed into the kitchen by a Maharajah smoking a pipe.  "Can we do the sky lanterns now?" he asked.  Well, why not?  It seemed the perfect moment, although I murmured a little about the slight wind that was picking up.  "Don't worry!" He said cheerily, "I've done this before."  Maharajah and Boyfriend expertly assembled the sky lantern.  You can imagine my concern when, unfolded, it turned out to be about a metre high.  Before I could say anything the fuel cell was lit, the lantern - resembling not so much a butterfly as a furnace - needed two strong men to hold it down while it inflated with hot air.  Just as Maharajah and Boyfriend let it go I took in the fact that no one was smiling.  The lantern took off like a rocket, darted sideways past next door's garden wall and promptly disappeared into Next Door But Ones.  I flashed forward mentally to next morning's newspaper headlines: "Big Black Dog Incinerated in his Own Back Garden by Sadistic Neighbours!"  Just then, the Flying Furnace suddenly reappeared above the wall, hovered menacingly for a bit, and then just shot skywards and was gone in seconds.  I confiscated the rest. 


   Around midnight, Daughter presented a bottle of Champagne to the fearless youth who had travelled from North West London by tube and walked boldly through the mean streets of Bethnal Green in broad daylight dressed in lime green tights and a lime green tee - shirt festooned with green balloons.  A bunch of grapes, since you ask. 

D and I made our escape to bed around 1:am.  There was no escaping Daughter's appalling taste in music though but we slept through it, absolutely exhausted.  At some point in the night I was aware of Daughter coming to rummage for blankets and I wasn't surprised to find a few bodies on the floor next morning.  Some of the girls had kindly cleared up the mess for us at first light, and put together a property bag: two cap guns, a rather nice lighter, a beard, a pair of devil's horns, an army cap, a Paul Smith glasses case and 20p!  D made pancakes.  Daughter appeared and announced proudly, “Nothing got broken!"  Bye bye, everyone.  Bye bye!

Still cleaning up...