and that's a wrap folks

The duty bound older cousin. It isn't easy being nearly nine in a room full of five year olds.

A balloon sword fight, a Bingo boycott, a collapsed cake and a guest in a snit over another guest's refusal to swap prizes (the Nemo lip balm for the Princess chapstick) were not part of the official party plan. But we soldiered on. The pirate clown and her live bunny were a hit. And the decorations sure were pretty. Pat. Pat.





Clementines and fresh berries were wishful thinking. Out of camera range are the heaping bowls of Ruffles and Cheetos that fueled the afternoon.

This is why I make cupcakes. Every birthday cake - truly, every single one - I have attempted has ended in catastrophe. I can't blame Martha's recipe or my crappy oven on this particular disaster. Quite simply, up until the moment I poured the batter I had two cake pans. I know I had two cake pans. But I could only find one at the crucial moment, and so the minute the cake was done I shook it out of the pan so I could bake the other layer. Don't do that. Out of eggs and out of time I actually thought I could patch this thing together with icing. Don't do that either. People might eat it but they'll also talk about you.

BYOF

Some people brought wine, some came bearing ice-cream, while others arrived with home-baked treats but my favourite hostess gift was this chair, which our friends found sitting curb-side on the drive over. Love it as-is but I can imagine doing something like this one day:



(an idea from the Celine Dupuy sewing book I can't get enough of.)

That's the Drexel coffee table from a few garage sales ago. Still awaiting refinishing, but with quotes ranging from $250 to $500 I think I'll take a crack at it myself. And now that I see how boring my carefully chosen oyster-hued paint looks I might have to take that on too. I have a hankering for colour. The kind of intense, deep, dark colour that makes husbands and real estate agents nervous. Like this. Or this. Or this.