~ and now he is 3 ~

I love birthday #3.  Its when they get it.  When they realise the presents, the cake, the fun is all about them.  He revelled in it.  Squealed for the presents.   Screamed with joy at the balloons.  Looked fit to burst as he ate his 4th piece of kite cake. (So glad he finally went for this and not the fairy princess castle - not because of the whole boy thing but because the kite was far more my skill level).  Started planning birthday #4 as soon as we got home.

We didn't go all out for this birthday - the little man only wanted "my best friends" and in the end this turned out to be our regular Tuesday morning park gang with a few almost-family friends thrown in.

So it felt casual and relaxed.  Just perfect for him.  And for us.

We made waaay too much food. This is a family tradition.  We had fairy bread and striped jellies, choc crackles, honey joys and strawberries.   I tried some new things too - the little teddy cars and the grissini wands were hits (thankyou Emma and your wonderful blog ). The girls made the lolly boxes.  We marvelled at how rich he's made our lives and how much joy and love he brings.  We had fun.

I'll write him a letter tonight.  I have a special book for each of them where I write a letter each birthday and record the highlights of the year and my thoughts on how they are growing.  It makes me cry each time I write it (or glance through it).  Its such a bittersweet experience watching them grow, knowing that they'll never be THIS perfect age again but hoping the next one will be fabulous too.

♥

~ 42, Douglas Adams and the meaning of life ~

Yesterday was my birthday

I love birthdays.

I love the rituals and the celebration, the giving (and receiving), the planning, the cake, the dinner, the spoiling.

I'm not so big on the numbers.  I don't feel 42.  Or what I thought 42 would feel like when I was (much) younger.  I thought forty was ancient, sensible and grown-up;  a holding pattern, if you like, for the rest of life.  And yet here I am  - mum to 3, one still in nappies with occasional thoughts of what a fourth would do to our lives (that's really only idle speculation - I can hear the screams of the Doc, my obstetrician and my absent abdominals already).  Not sorted, not mature, not always sensible.

In my heart I'm still in my 20s.  Still believing anything is within reach and possible if I put my mind to it.  I catch myself scanning the uni students milling around wondering if I'll see anyone I know.  I get shocked when I don't recognise the movies showing at the cinema or the songs in the top20.  I feel betrayed when my body aches and screams if I push it too hard or if I stay up too late, or have too many bubbles.  I still have to pinch myself that I am responsible for 3 small people - that they rely on me for food, shelter, love and knowledge.  I still feel like the world is out there waiting for me to come and explore and wonder.

Denial?  For sure.  I'm not one to gaze in the mirror checking for wrinkling and aging.  I have no list of what I need/want to achieve by this age, or that.  Sometimes, in those moments when I let myself think about aging,  I feel paralysed with fear that I'll be too old to play with my grandchildren (imagine if our kids wait as long as we did...), that genetics will catch up with me or the Doc and we'll fall prey to those health demons that lurk in the family histories.

So I live for the here and now.  For the little moments, the wonders, the sheer mundanity, the joys, the disappointments of the everyday.  Where the numbers are irrelevant and I strive to make each day count. 

Yesterday was a good day, I hope there are many more of them.

♥

{disclaimer:  That is not yesterday's cake.  The Doc made 3 cakes (best not to talk about the first two unless you have great tips about what to do with a cupboard full of crumbled chocolate cake) and finally cracked it with a heart shaped, chocolate extravaganza.  HRH LLJ had been wondering all day "where's the birthday?" and it wasn't until he saw the candles that he was convinced it was a real birthday.  In all his 2 year old excitement at cake and candles with the accompanying jumping and screaming I actually forgot to take a photo.}

~ the Central Cookery Book comes into its own ~

The Doc had his birthday on Saturday.

Cue massive over excitement from the 3 wombles. 

For even without party bags, games or,  heck, even a party,  the thought of birthday cake is enough to get them going. 

We baked a delicious lemon tea cake from the  Central Cookery Book.  The book that was my year 7 cooking text (and therefore, over 30 years old much to the wombles amazement).

{teacake with lemon icing}

I didn't learn much cooking at school.  6 months of classes once a week in a mixed class in grade 7.

I can remember scones and pizza (same dough) -  that's about it.  That's no reflection on the utterly delightful Home Ec. teacher who was in the classic Mrs Beeton mode.  And is was certainly a whole lot better than the sewing lessons with a relief teacher for 6 months who struggled to get us to do anything except flirt with each other and throw eggs out the window and hide cooking ingredients . I blame my lack of crafting ability entirely on her... I cheated to get my machine licence (used a pin to poke holes in a straight line) and things have never really improved. 

But the cook book lives on.  Stained, torn, well-thumbed and certainly worse for wear.  Many of the recipes in there would never see the light of day in this house - think kidneys on toast,  scotch collops (what??), tripe friscasse... and it suffers hugely from the lack of pretty, light filled photos of the food.

But those old home Ec ladies sure knew a thing or two about baking and cakes.  And pikelets, scones and the like.

{simple cupcakes}

So while I drool over the latest food porn mags (Donna Hay, Delicious) and the gorgeous, plump-with- enticing photos cook books that line the shelves,  it's the old Central Cookery Book that we turn to for ritual and celebration.