So the Birthday Party is done and dusted – the Hungarian one at least. (Aunty C has been talking about a momentous 13-month party to be held at home, and the more I think about that, the more I’m looking forward to it.)
There was a moment in all my flurried preparations, inevitably, when I stopped and had a thunking great epiphany that I was stressed out, rather than having fun, and that Miss Bee was gloriously oblivious to it all …
I pulled myself together and gave myself a Lize-style pep talk and tried to take some nice photos – but looking back on them they have an element of immeasurable sadness to me, like there’s something majorly missing from them – a full complement of the people I love. Or maybe I just shoulda made more use of the flash. I’m one of the world’s worst photographers (Zelda is one of the best).
At least Miss Bee looked sweet.
Wee velvet dress, Baby Gap, thrifted. Green top, thrifted. Tights, new, from her Hungarian grandmother.
Miss Bee and I stood and posed for a photo or two, amid teeming throngs of adoring relatives from my side of the family.
This is the banner I made in honour of the occasion; I got the idea from some deep dark corner of the internet to which I now can’t find a link (I wouldn’t post it anyway, coz it’d put this meagre effort to shame). It kinda hung on the big white wall like a cobweb – I tried to add a bit of context with balloons either side, but somehow that wasn’t right either … these faces make me smile so much anyway!
Made this sweet gingerbread house as one element in my Tourette’s-style baking outburst. Well, I baked it and decorated the bits and then I got Mr A to use his mad skillz builder-wise to frame it up, gib it, sand it, sign off the building consent etc.
Of course, in true tradie style, Mr A refrained from dressing up or even getting rid of his facial hair for the occasion:
Miss Bee opening presents:
… and here’s the famous hootie cake. Unfortunately it was only in retrospect (looking at photos later, if you can believe it) that I realised the way I stuck in the ‘1’ candle made it look somewhat anatomically correct.
Hoo! Hoo! Lock up your owlets!
Here’s Miss Bee blowing out the penis candle.
Finally, as the evening gently wound down, we all either rolled around on the floor, playing with our new books and toys, or uncouthly hoovered up the dregs of the champagne (outside of frame).
DONE and DUSTED!