The Birthday Mission

It was seven in the morning when the three little heads poked around the door of their parents’ bedroom. The man in the bed was fast asleep, enjoying the well deserved lie-in he was allowed due to his day off work; the woman opened the one eye that wasn’t buried in her pillow only a fraction, smiling inwardly at her quietly giggling children.

She knew they would make a bombsite style mess in the kitchen; she knew at least one of them – most likely the only girl – would end up covered in some sort of food stuff; she knew what they were planning to do was out of the utmost love and affection; and she knew she would be the one to clean up, but that didn’t pull her from her bed.

The three infants made their way, as quietly as they could, down the carpeted stairs, their little slippers shuffling noiselessly as they made their way to the bottom. They crept – the eldest at the front and the youngest at the back – in a line towards the kitchen, where the eldest boy stood up on his tip-toes to flick on the light.

This room would be their playground for the next hour.

Ryan – the oldest of the three at seven years old – flicked his long brown fringe from his pale blue eyes and scanned the kitchen; he would have to use a chair to get to the highest shelves in the fridge and cupboards. He’d probably get Adam – his younger brother and second oldest in the trio at six and a half – to do most of the climbing because he himself was in charge of this monumental mission. Macy – the youngest at four and the only girl – would make the juice.

“This is how it’s gonna go,” Ryan announced in whispers. “I’m doing the cooker and the kettle because I’m the oldest and most responsible.”

Adam and Macy nodded, Macy still clutching the paw of her favourite teddy bear and Adam chewing his fingernails.

“Adam, you’ll be getting all the ingredients because you’re smaller than me and probably won’t fall off the chair.”

Macy pouted in protest, thinking she didn’t have an important job to do.

“And Macy, you’ll be helping me mix and be making the juice,” Ryan smiled at his little sister.

“Yay!” Macy yelled, receiving shushing from her brothers.

At this, the three children set to work. Adam slid one of the chairs from the kitchen table and dragged it across the tiled floor to the fridge, first pulling out the juice. Macy reached up as tall as she could muster, dropping her bear, and grabbed the carton in both of her small, chubby arms.

“Thanks, Adam!” she lisped politely, before shuffling in her little pink slippers to the table.

Adam next pulled out the eggs and milk, handing them to his older brother who took one in each hand. Macy marvelled at how strong he was, and couldn’t wait to be eight years old.

When everything needed from the fridge was gotten, Adam climbed down awkwardly from the chair and dragged it to the cupboards. He climbed up and onto the worktop, opening different doors to find different objects required for the job in hand.

He pulled out two glasses, two mugs, two plates and the vegetable oil that was hid at the back of the cupboard with the tins. Ryan stood next to the counter and took the items one at the time, before handing them to Macy who stood a small way away, between him and the table, upon which she placed all the crockery handed to her.

As Adam climbed down, Ryan opened one of the low cupboards under the counter and pulled out a large frying pan. He closed the door and took it to the cooker. He didn’t flick on the flame or put any oil in the pan yet, because there was one more massive job to do in the mission.

Macy found the large mixing bowl that the three usually made cake batter in with their mother, from another of the lower cupboards, and set up on the table. She then climbed into one of the chairs and awaited eagerly her next part in the mission.

Ryan and Adam each took an egg and tapped them on the sides of the bowl. When they cracked, they stuck their fingers into the split and pulled open the shells. The eggs splashed into the bowl, little pieces of shell following in their wake – Adam tried deftly to remove all of the bits.

“Come on Macy, it’s you turn to help,” Adam chimed happily.

Macy stood up on her chair and sat on the table, taking hold of the underside of the carton of milk which Adam had already opened and was holding the top of, and helped him pour a sizeable amount into the bowl.

She helped him put the heavy carton back down, and Ryan then cracked another egg into the batter for good measure.

After that, Ryan took the whisk from the second drawer next to the sink, and held it out so Macy could hold onto it with him. Then the pair began stirring the mixture as Adam heaped in tablespoons of flour.

Soon, they had a reasonably thick and large amount of batter.

Ryan hopped down from his chair and shuffled to the cooker, where he turned on the hob ring upon which the frying pan sat. He poured an amount of oil into the pan – too much for pancakes – and waited for it to heat up.

“It’s hot!” he called to his siblings.

They both picked up the bowl – one set of hands on either side – and brought it over to the counter next to the cooker. Adam took the ladle and the spatula from the pot which held other household items on the side, and handed them to Ryan, who plunged the ladle into the bowl.

As one pancake cooked, the previous one was being coated in sugar and folded up on one of the plates. They did them alternatively, so that the pancakes were of even temperature for their parents. When each plate had five pancakes on each, Ryan flicked on the kettle to boil and turned off the hob.

Macy and Adam each brought from the table a glass and a mug, and as Adam put coffee powder into the mugs, Ryan helped Macy fill up the glasses with orange juice.

“Where are the trays?” Macy asked, with eloquence beyond her years but still with the childish speech impediments.

“Over there, I’ll get them!” Adam chirped eagerly, rushing over and heaving himself onto the counter with his arms so as to pull two serving trays down.

They crashed to the floor and the three infants stopped in their tracks to see if they had woken their parents. When no sound of footsteps came, Adam picked up the trays and Ryan poured the now boiled water from the kettle into the mugs. He and Macy then topped up the coffees with a sizeable amount of milk.

After that, they filled up the trays. Adam snuck into the back garden and plucked some bluebells and lavender from the garden, which they placed into a small cup on each of the trays. Each tray had pancakes, a coffee, a glass of juice, some flowers and a knife and fork on them.

Their mission wasn’t over yet.

Each of the three children went to their separate hiding places, where they had kept their respective homemade cards for a whole week.

Macy’s card was a crayon drawing of the whole family holding hands with her daddy in the middle, all with giant, red crayon smiles on their faces. On the back was a large message of ‘Happy birthday daddy, from Macy’ scrawled across in blue and green crayon, with twenty large kisses underneath.

Adam’s card was a folded A4 sheet with a drawing of his dad with a giant ‘#1’ next to him. It was coloured in with felt pens and was nearly all completely in the lines, and was adorned with many gold star stickers. Inside, he had written neatly his message, accompanied by three kisses.

Ryan’s card was the biggest. He had commandeered a sheet of A3 card from school and brought it home, folding it in half to make a card twice as big as Adam’s. He had drawn on the front a birthday cake, coloured in neatly with blue and pink felt pen. He had written, in bubble letters, ‘Happy’ above and ‘birthday’ below the cake, and coloured them in a darker blue than the cake. He had written his message in large letters on the inside, and drawn smiley faces in random places around it.

The three children swapped their cards with each other, admiring each other’s handiwork and complaining the size of Ryan’s. Ryan smiled smugly but told the other two that daddy would love their cards just the same.

“Now we’ve gotta take these upstairs for mummy and daddy,” Ryan said, placing his card on the tray that would be given to their father.

The other two followed suit, fighting to have their card on the top – Adam won it out – and the three began deciding how the carrying would work. So as to have a safe and secure journey as possible, Ryan would take up a tray on his own, and Macy and Adam would work together.

Together, the three began the shaky walk up the stairs, their eyes on the trays they had so painstakingly laid out.

At the top of the stairs, Mum was standing at the edge of her bedroom, watching around the doorframe for the children to come upstairs. Finally, she caught sight of the three bobbing dark-haired heads, and chuckled to herself; she tip-toed to her bed and climbed back in, feigning sleep.

After ten minutes of dubious walking, Ryan, Adam and Macy made it up the staircase with hardly a drop of juice out of place. They sneaked along the landing, barely able to contain their excitement, and shuffled into their parents’ room.

In unison, they yelled: “Happy birthday, daddy!”

Dad woke up with a start and Mum sat up, grinning. As soon as his eyes fell on his three children, his tired face cracked into a warm smile and he relaxed into his pillow.

Ryan, Adam and Macy shuffled over to the bed, first handing over Dad’s tray for Mum to pass along, and then handing Mum her own tray. Before they ate, Dad read his cards, smiling widely at each one.

“C’mere,” he grinned, holding his arms out.

The three climbed onto the bed – careful not to knock anything over – and hugged their father, before telling Mum she had to join in too. Dad squeezed everyone tightly and kissed them all, and then the children stood back and watched with bated breath as their parents tucked into their meal.

With their mouths full, Mum and Dad both said: “Mmm, yummy!”

The children cheered, incredibly proud of themselves, before running off to their rooms to let their parents enjoy their meals in peace, and to get ready for the fun day ahead of them. Mum laughed quietly and put down her knife and fork.

“You knew about this, didn’t you,” Dad smirked.

“Of course I did,” Mum replied, smiling.