Beginning to regret having my 40th birthday party at home.
Ethan is single-handedly turning our back room into a nightclub with an excess of lights, lasers and twinkly stars all over the place.
And he's just announced that he's going to put a padlock and hazard tape over our trampoline to stop drunken revelers from bouncing on it. Feel like a teenager about to have a party with my well-meaning but embarrassingly uptight dad.
Also, unless he cheers up, it's going to be like hosting a party with Victor Meldrew. He's been totally miserable to live with the last few days. Shouting at the kids, speaking aggressively to me over little things like whether the hamster needs to go in his exercise ball and managing to turn even positive, kind happenings (my sister offered to have the kids for us so we can pack for holiday) into something negative ('We both need to be packing that day. You can't go driving the kids over to Rotherham'). In actual fact, I think the issue is over his mid-life-crisis of a car that he doesn't want me to drive which I would need to drive if I was to take the kids to Rotherham so that he could be packing our family car with the camping stuff. The car in question is the ridiculous purchase that almost ruined us that I never agreed with him buying, that we don't all fit in, that we can't afford and that now, I've discovered, I'm not even allowed to drive!
Happy birthday me!