I was determined to create a celebration that would bring a sense of normalcy and settledness to our lives - in short, we needed a party. After all, no self-respecting three year-old will fall for a birthday devoid of candles and balloons and at least some decent noise. The problem was a distinct lack of available preschoolers with whom Max was willing to share his cake and toys. Not to mention the obnoxious presence of the ubiquitous boxes lurking in the corners of the new house. So Willem and I downed some mental Red Bull, worked till midnight either unpacking boxes or stuffing them unopened into the attic, bribed the few people we know with promises of lunch if they came and played children's party games, and asked the neighbour's little son over, to boost the number of children present to three.
On Sunday morning (yesterday), after days of no sleep, and hours of shopping, planning and baking, I told Max that today was the grand day of his party. He grunted politely without averting his gaze from the TV, where Peter Pan was enthusiastically engaged in sending Captain Hook over the side of his ship into the waiting jaws of the happy crocodile. Then Willem appeared with a bunch of balloons. The response was electric.
"Ballooooons!" hooted Max, leaping up and leapfrogging around the room. "It's my party! Yayayayay! Where my candles? Do I get cake? When are the friends coming?"
The friends duly arrived, clutching an assortment of gaily wrapped swords, shields, beach paddles, balls, puzzles and other most desirable objects, the games were played, and Max was delighted with the crocodile cake (in deference to the Peter Pan and pirate craze) that his mother and sister spent an enjoyable hour decorating - at first, we thought, rather tastefully, and then, since the vile-green icing refused to run out, with an increasing flair for the florid.
In all, it was a pleasant affair, and we were very grateful that we had been so fastidious about hunting a good house. The weather was rotten, with gale force winds and bad-tempered clouds exchanging insults around the house all day long. Although the rent is horribly high, we managed to have an indoor children's party with no breakages, happy kids and still enough space for the adults to mingle and chat.
Today, his actual birthday, I had promised to take the birthday boy on a boat ride. He has been angling, if you'll excuse the expression, to go boating since we arrived in this sea-ensconced country, and we thought it would be a lovely birthday treat. Unfortunately, the South Africans failed to take the fickle NZ weather into account. And when the weatherman predicted gale force winds and stinging rain for the whole of Monday, I couldn't very well go back on my word to take Max on a ferry boat into town. He was kitted out in his new Peter Pan outfit (complete with long-sleeved woolies on beneath it), jaunty cap and feather, and sword tucked into his belt, and nothing was going to stop him. And nothing did. He relished the tipping and heaving of the boat (not noticing that his mother was turning the same colour as his outfit), complained that he wasn't allowed to lean over the side of the ferry to see the sharks and crocodiles and whales and dolphins and fish and penguins he knew were crowding around the hull, strutted down Queen Street with such impish self-assuredness that he scored free 'lollies' (NZ for sweets) from every smitten waitress whose path he crossed, and demanded fish and chips and ginger beer for lunch AND supper.
So I reckon Max has found his Neverland. And it is an island. And it has magical flying ships (albeit ferries that lurch over waves), and crocodiles (in cake form), and although he declares himself now to finally be a 'big boy' (especially after we turfed the nappies), I don't think he's too worried about growing up. And so it was that with happy, happy thoughts and pixie dust, Max - and his very Wendy-like big sister Maya - lifted his homesick, tired parents to get them airborne, so that we too could feel that we, in our new beautiful island country, are slowly, slowly, 'turning free.'
