Man of 33

Somewhere between snores, snorts and scratching his man bits (did I say 'bits'? I mean BIGORMOUS, POWERFUL *quiver!*, MANLY *oh my!* ORBS OF STEEL!!!!), my man turned 33.

Despite the lack of brouhaha surrounding his bday celebration (I say this because I always believe birthdays ought to be spent in boisterous revelry. The bigger and louder, the better. But that's just me.), I believe we still managed to make it special for him.

'Twas a simple dinner. Simple, but intimate.

I roasted a chicken (with lemon butter and thyme) and a joint of pork (honey roasted with a sage and onion stuffing). I made Insalata Caprese, roasted parsnips and potatoes, and for dessert, I tried out that molten chocolate cake recipe.

Party decor was the usual - the over recycled 'Happy Birthday' sign saved from numerous birthdays before. Cheeks made Papa a really nice 'Monster Family' card. I liked it so much I gave it a place of prominence - smack in the middle of the under-decorated wall.

(* Cheeks has progressed from drawing stick fingers. Them fingers? They be resemblin' flowers now. See example below.)

A bouquet of red and pink flowers vased in a cookie jar with a white satin ribbon tied round its waist, Rob Stewart crooning old standards in the background, and my dinner setting was complete.

We ate. We drank. We swirled round the kitchenfloor (we seem to do that alot. Think it may be a 'Chan family' trait). There were chuckles, kisses and cuddles throughout dinner.

The great part about big birthday bashes is the element of excitement, fun. But small, intimate ones - especially those celebrated with the ones you love - they are truly... some kind of wonderful.