How One Journeys From A Rice Cake To A Party Ring In Less Than A Year

When the kids first started eating solids, I got into the habit of giving them a rice cake when we first got up, to keep them going until I had enough energy to make breakfast.  Largely, this was because the little bastards used to get up at 4.30.  Four fucking thirty.  You can’t have breakfast at 4.30, but I had to give them something, so a rice cake it was.  Fast forward two years and the first thing they now eat is a Party Ring.  Obviously, I would rather they didn’t start the day with a Party Ring. (Who am I kidding? It’s at least two, if not three.  And sometimes a chocolate finger too.) But somehow, this is the reality.  This blog is the story of how we got there.

Last Easter, when they were nearly two, we went away with my lovely sister, her three lovely kids and my lovely mum.  We stayed at a really great farm stay place in St Osyth, Essex and a great time was had by all.  In fact, it’s where this gem of a picture was taken:

Zachary, having a great time.

On our first morning there, I’d neglected to bring any rice cakes. We did, however, have some digestive biscuits.  And so we seamlessly graduated from the gateway drug of a rice cake, to a digestive. There was no going back.

So for a few weeks, they began their day with a digestive.  Not so bad – they have wheat* in and other healthy stuff I’m sure.  And the very name suggests they are supportive in aiding digestion (not that either of my shitting-everywhere children seem to need help with their digestive system). It wasn’t the dream but I could live with it.

Then one of best friends came to stay with us.  At one point, she popped out to the shop and asked me if I needed anything.  I must have asked her to get some miIk because we always need milk, and I also asked her to get some biscuits.  Off she popped and soon she returned, biscuits in hand.  Nice biscuits.  You know, the little rectangular ones with actual granulated sugar on top.  They don’t even bother hiding the sugar.  It took seconds before my children sniffed out the fact there was a new biscuit on the block the next morning and so we graduated from digestives to Nice biscuits. The morning snack problem was spiralling out of control.

The final jump, to the Party Ring, was alcohol induced.  My cousin came to stay the night.  My cousin and I are a terrible combination, booze wise.  We’d talked about how we were going to have a civilised dinner and share a bottle of wine.  Three hours and three trips to the corner shop later, and four bottles of wine had been consumed.  No-one who is going to be in solo charge of two small children the next day should ever drink that amount of wine.  But drink them we did.

The next day wasn’t pretty.  I hauled my sorry hungover arse out of bed, got the kids up and dressed, and dragged my equally hungover cousin to Morrisons for a fry up.  (Glamorous, I know). My child free cousin then left to go back to London, and I was left alone with two hyperactive two year olds and a behemoth of a hangover.  On the way home, I stopped at the corner shop (the one that had sold me all the wine the night before - bastards) and bought some hangover food to keep me going.  Amongst my purchases was a packet of Party Rings. 

We got back home.  I was weak. I was hungover. I couldn’t move from the sofa to go and eat my contraband biscuits in secret, hiding behind the fridge door, which is what I normally do when I don’t want them to know a food exists.  I ate the Party Rings in front of them.  I gave them some too because when they were eating the Party Rings, they weren’t screaming two centimetres from my face or trying to get me to build a motherfucking tower or climbing on me and sweet Jesus I just needed them to be quiet.  

That’s right.  I introduced them to the sugar high that is the Party Ring, and from then on, there was no going back.  The next morning, when they got up at the crack of dawn, they demanded one.  ‘PARTY RING! PARTY RING! PARTY RING!’ they chanted, loudly and without stopping.  I am not a morning person.  I cannot function properly before 7am.  I need coffee and quiet and gentle movements.  I cannot do anything at 5.30 in the morning, other than plonk them in front of the telly and give them whatever food they ask for.  So a Party Ring they asked for, and a Party Ring they got.

And that, my friends, is how one journeys from a rice cake to a Party Ring in less than a year. 

*I have no idea if they have wheat in.  I just vaguely remember there being a picture of some wheat on the packet.  And wheat’s healthy, innit?