Another year gone then . . . what's for dinner?


July signals the end of the school year and, in my case, the beginning of a new year. Having a birthday in July is a mixed blessing. In my school days, I longed for some reason to have a birthday at home and always felt thwarted that I only just missed out on this treat. I don't what I was imagining would happen - at school you got cards from everyone and presents and a cake and the bumps. At home, it would have been a much quieter affair. In those days, when your father was in the Armed Forces, your family moved to a new place every two years. If you went to boarding school - which we did - you never got to know anyone long enough for them to think about remembering your birthday.

The value of having a birthday during term time has been brought home to me by the realisation that Youngest Son, whose birthday is in August, will always miss out. And even though we have no intention of moving anywhere for decades, his little friends will no doubt be off on their holidays as soon as term ends and so he will never have a full cohort of buddies to attend his celebrations.

This year was significant in the sense that it was the first time since I was 13 years old that my birthday fell on a Friday 13th. I recall scoring 13 rounders on that day, and we won the match, so it was probably a very good day indeed and the fact that we were playing rounders indicates that the weather must have been good too.

This Friday 13th, sadly, was not so auspicious. Birthdays do not usually bother me too much, so it took me by surprise to find that I was SO p***ed about this one. It is true that Mr Darnbrough did take me to see the new Harry Potter film on the Saturday night but I did have to make my own birthday cake and the boys did have to be dragged from playing with their new hot wheels track in order to sing happy birthday to me. It doesn't really make you feel appreciated.

Eventually, I realised that it wasn't so much the birthday being a bit of a damp squib it was the fact that, as many mothers will probably recognise, I was just feeling as though everyone else's needs took priority over mine - all the time. It happens occasionally. You find yourself at the kitchen sink, or shoving washing into the washing machine for the umpteenth time and you think: "I didn't spend four years at university to end up doing this!" It can make you very crabby and difficult to be around while it lasts but it does eventually wear off.

That feeling of being at the bottom of the heap was summed up for me by Youngest Son, who has been busy planning his own birthday celebrations. Initially he had decreed that no girls would be allowed to come. He has relented sufficiently to include me because "you can serve the food, Mummy."

Note to self: This summer to be the point at which the boys start taking more of a share of the household chores - and Daddy helps to set an example.

Note to self (and any Significant Others): next year I want to go to The Henley Festival.