They Say It's Your Birthday (Next Week)

Sunday morning. Woke up, got up, made coffee and toast, shlepped around the kitchen and garden for a bit. Watched a Psychedelic Furs video from about a million years ago. 

Mixed this up and bunged it in the oven. It turned out brown. Just right for a chocolate cake. After breakfast, Sweeney helped me knock out some ninjabread men from this healthsome recipe. They turned out brown, too. Just right for baked assassins.

Why the baking hubbub?? Harper's birthday party was on, that's why. He's three any day now.

 

Here's the star of the day, looking rather splendid in his new t-shirt. Note the entirely adequate cake in the foreground ...

You're a rather lovely chap, Harper, and I'm chuffed to know you. I love the way you call me "auntyange", and how you call Sweeney "Seeney".

I love that you and Sweeney can't get enough of each other, yet you're happy enough, each of you, when the other is gone. You're so similar and so different. You're lucky boys, to have each other.

And here are two beautiful, fine women who breached the perimeter yesterday. Bela, who we've known forever, and Coco-Inez, who we've only just met.
Anyhoo, Happy-Birthday-for-Saturday, Harpoon!!