Birthdays large and small

I can probably say that going to a 2-year-old's birthday party on the site of a Byzantine church in the Arab world was a one-off experience. Although the dwarves were happy enough with the helium balloons and enormous cake made up of sponge-and-icing footballs, not to notice the extraordinary setting. Unfortunately the helium balloons made a break for the stars at the end of the party, and the Lozenge was intent on reminding me about replacing them until his exhausted and sweaty little head hit the pillow at 8pm.

The next thing I knew, after another rather a late night fuelled with 15% vol Jordanian wine, was a loud stage whisper in my ear at about 5.45am. 'MUMMY. CAN YOU BLOW UP THITH BALLOON?' It was in fact the morning of my 38th birthday, but the Lozenge was unaware of this and keener on inflating a meagre replacement for the helium losses the day before. I summoned up a teeny bit of breath, handed him a small excuse for a balloon, and the day limped into action.

We had the usual timetable of Cheerio fest followed by disco dressing followed by kicking a football around with Sayyad downstairs before the the school bus appeared. Then Rashimi and I had a game of hide and seek for an hour before the Glammy arrived. By 9am I felt like I'd done 24 hours manual labour. But the Glammy whipped out of her bag, the most beautiful necklace she'd had made for me, with my name carved out in gold Arabic letters, stuck onto a pearly white shell. Then St Grace arrived with a bunch of flowers and another beautiful necklace made of a shell. I looked at their bright, shining faces and thought how fitting it was that these two women, who are my earth forces in this foreign land, would have independently chosen something as wholesome as a sea shell to give me.

The Lozenge returned after his first session of pre-tennis with 'Coach Mohammad' and they disappeared off to the Glammy's house for the afternoon. By tea time my energy had made a miraculous reappearance. The Glammy took us all in her golden Jeep to Pizza Hut for tea. We occupied one of those curved booths which after half an hour was thickly coated in bits of cheese, slices of pepperoni and slurps of Pepsi. We drove back through the dusky city with the stars just beginning to prick in the sky, the sticky dwarves and St Grace in the back, listening to Michael Bubble's cover of 'It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life….And I'm feeling good.'

I listened to the words and looked across at the Glammy who confessed this was her song of the month. She's about to make a big step, but I know it's the right one for her. Not least because it's up to trail blazers like her, to help pave the way for other Arab women towards more liberated lives where they can be the mistresses of their own destiny.

I thought were heading home, but the Glammy admitted they had been whipping up a chocolate cake at her flat all afternoon. We went up to her apartment and as we entered, all the lights went on to reveal a room full of Arab ladies and children, including her Mum, her sister, her aunties, her cousins and some friends, all singing happy birthday and throwing balloons about. 'This is the only aunty I like,' said the Glammy. 'And this is my cousin and I'm always telling you about…and this….' and so on. There were huge cakes which disappeared in a few seconds after Rashimi had plunged his digits into the top of the chocolate one as we blew out the candles. Then we danced to really loud Arab pop music, had a tour of her flat, including the Lozenge's favourite place, which is the Glammy's bedroom with the biggest wide screen TV you've ever seen at the end of the bed, complete with a diamante skull telephone on a bedside table. We talked and laughed and danced and the Glammy also showed us her father's incredible collection of Nabatean, Roman and early Islamic era coins, pottery and other things which he'd collected in his lifetime, and left to the Glammy before he died.

We gave St Grace a lift home and the dwarves hit the pillow at 9.30pm. As the Lozenge's eyelids quivered to a close he said, 'Happy Birthday Mummy. Your birthday hath been my motht favourite one, ever ever never. Night night and can we have more birthday tomorrow?'