In which we turn 30, eat too much cake, and witness two miracles.

It’s been an eventful week.

Also exhausting, but in a good way.

You may be able to tell from the change in my writing (assuming that ageing affects your tone as well as everything else), that I am now 30. Yep. 30. Which, as my cousin (who’s 22 and still has most of her twenties ahead of her) kept gleefully reminding me, is halfway to 60. Because that statement is totally going to make anyone feel good. Of course, she doesn’t know I’m going to store that comment up…

The bonus, so far as I can tell, is that I no longer have to worry about turning 30. That’s behind me. And I’m now in my early 30’s, which doesn’t sound so old. I have about 7 years before I have to stress about the end of another decade and run through all the things I haven’t accomplished. Seven years seems like a nice buffer. The negatives are that I can never again lord it over Dino that I can get cheap tickets to concerts because I’m under 30 and he’s old. Those days are gone.

Friday was the normal chaos of preparing for visitors and a party. Then my sister, niece and nephew arrived and Ange started assembling the fanciest, most extravagant birthday cake.

Ever.

Are you seeing the giant chocolate dragonflies? The silver leaf?

These pictures do not do it justice. And it was tasty too!

Saturday, Dino threw me the best 30^th birthday party anyone could ask for. And for the first time in my life, the weather cooperated.

No rain.

First miracle.

My family and friends joined us for a backyard bbq. Good food. Excellent company. Plenty of expensive champagne for me to drink. And cake. Did I mention the cake? I have eaten more cake this last week than the last full year (possibly the last two…).

I’ll let Dino talk about the amazing feast he put on – naturally it was his usual standard, super tasty, good food and everyone seemed to really enjoy it. Otto definitely received the most attention (more than me but that’s okay – nobody can resist a puppy).  Although there is no statistical verification for the following statement, I’m putting it out there anyway – “Oooooh, he’s soooo cute!” is likely to have been the most spoken sentence in Elanora on Saturday September 3^rd, 2011.

Consequently, Otto was exhausted. He had to take several extended nanna naps to get him through the afternoon.

 

Some of them were so deep and prolonged that we had to check he was breathing…

Like any good party, we spent the first hour or so greeting people, had a brief lull during which we could eat and drink lots of tasty champagne, then the farewells began. And kept going. And going.

Then we had cake.

Then some more farewells.

Then the last of the guest s left (did I mention that my sister did all the washing up. Seriously. All of it) and we crashed. By around 8 pm, the lounge was covered in my immediate family all snoring. And the best part

It wasn’t even my birthday yet!

Sunday morning I was lying in bed, really enjoying the fact that it was now my birthday, when we heard a lot of noise from the chicken coop. Dino peeked out the window and uttered the words nobody wants to hear. “The dogs are in the chicken coop”. Then he ran. I followed. The whole time thinking that Chuck Norris who, you will remember, was my birthday present, was dead. That Chester was going to joyfully present me with the bloodied remains of my birthday chicken…

It took my brain a long time to process what I was seeing by the time I reached the coop. Dino had removed the dogs and Chester knew he had done something terrible. He just wasn’t entirely sure what.

Feathers.

Feathers is what my brain was having issue with.

There were a lot of feathers.

 A staggering amount of feathers.

But, cue second miracle, no blood. Then my eyes found Clementine, one of our free chickens (long story which would interrupt the drama of this moment), and my brain was convinced I was just seeing her head. Never a good thing. But, her body was still attached and, although she had a bald patch on her butt (the source of most of the feathers!), she seemed okay. Well, okay for a catatonic chicken who had been plucked by a giant hound.

Then I realised that Chuck was not there. I counted. Five chickens. Two white. One black. Two brown. No Chuck. The Dino discovered Chuck wedged into the ‘hole’. Unharmed and not at all sheepish about having hidden. Very unlike Chuck Norris.

The rest of my birthday was a lot less dramatic. We had a lovely brunch with my Mum, Dad, Sister, Kasey, Jamie and myself and Dino. Then my family had to head home and it was just Dino and I. We drank Belinis and sat in the sun. The chickens organised themselves into a posse and sounded the alarm every single time Chester entered the backyard. Chester, having finally made the connection between the unhappy chickens and his troubles, took great pains to avoid them. All was right with the world.

Monday rolled around too soon and I was starting to get nervous about meeting one of my favourite authors. What would we talk about? Would she be nice or egotistical (like some of the other authors I have met)? Would I be disappointed?

Stay tuned to find out.