The first weekend of my 30's

Anyone who is a regular here would be well aware that I turned 30 last week. Yes, this is yet another post about saying Sayoonara to my 20's and Hajimemsahite to a new decade. I can't help it; up until recently I thought it was no big deal at all. Then it happened, and it felt different... I felt different. I was even a wee bit emotional. I kept thinking about a story my dad often tells about my fourth birthday, when I asked him if I would be any bigger once I was four. I woke up this weekend, 30 years old, and I couldn't help but wonder, was I any bigger? I'm certain I did wake up a little bit fatter thanks to the Malteser McFlurry with extra fudge that I consumed before bed. But turning 30 also had me reflecting on the person I have become. I've been questioning myself a lot lately, am I a nice person? Am I a good friend? A good mum? I had trouble finding answers, and so I turned to M and asked him,

"Babe, am I a hard person to be friends with?"

When I ask M a question, he usually pauses before he answers. He thinks about his answer because he knows that he must be honest, but without pissing me off (that's the hard part). Yet this time he instantly laughed and responded with a resounding NO. What a lovely compliment. Here was the person who is constantly exposed to the worst version of myself assuring me that I am a good friend, an easy person to be friends with. Awesome. That was all the reassurance I needed, obviously any haters are just fuckwits. 

I wanted to paint my nails on Saturday; I stupidly thought that trying to do this while looking after my children was a good idea. I had just finished applying the second coat when H stepped on my toes, resulting in smeared polish across my toenails and little pink spots on the rug as he walked away. I told you he was a devil. A split second later A decided she wanted to feed, pulling on my arm as she tried to get at my breast, resulting in the polish on my right hand being ruined. Needless to say I lost my shit, and I'm sure my next door neighbour heard me because when I saw her at the shop a couple of hours later she could not get away from me fast enough. 

So by the time the evening rolled around I was well and truly in need of the kind of release that can only be provided by cocktails, and the cocktail of choice on my 30th birthday was none other than the Strawberry Daquiri. 

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Kylie (A Study in Contradictions) asked as I fluttered about the kitchen. 

"Make me a fucking drink!" I begged.

"How do you make daquiris?" She asked in a panic.

"FIND BIG SIS!" I barked in reply. 

Big Sis can take the credit for igniting the daquiri flame, for she is the daquiri queen. She assumed the role of Daquiri Maker for the duration of the evening. When she had to leave to take her wee man home (her wee man, my nephew and godson, who shall be known from here on as The Godson) I stepped up to manufacture the last batch of daquiris. And it was awful. I thought pineapple would make a lovely addition, but I was wrong. It was a furry, chunky, frothy daquiri, and it broke my heart.
 

My super fabulous husband is an incredible cook and was responsible for catering for the bbq. It wasn't your typical bbq where the woman does everything and the man just flips the meat on the hotplate, I did nothing. He asked our mothers to prepare some side dishes and he cooked chicken, steak, sausages and pork belly. I don't mean to brag, but M cooks the BEST PORK BELLY IN THE UNIVERSE! The meat is so juicy, soft and flavoursome, and the skin is perfectly crisp and crunchy and light. Drool. I think I'll post his recipe this week, so watch this space, you won't regret it.

Pork belly on the right. YUM.

If I told you there was an incident involving vomit on a trampoline, you might think we throw some pretty wild parties. We've thrown many parties and many houses that have involved MANY shenanigans, but those days are over. Waking up to sticky floors littered with passed out bodies, empty bottles and cigarette butts is hardly appropriate with children. No, this time the vomit on the trampoline was perfectly innocent. 

"It smells like spew!"

"What's that over there?"

Spew boy H

I heard my (much younger) siblings remark as they were bouncing away. 

Knowing who the culprit would most likely be, I called H over, and our conversation went like this:

Me: "Did you vomit on the trampoline?"

H: "Nope."

Me: "Then what is that over there?"

H: "That just my pasta."
Me: "Your pasta? Then what is this on your sleeve?"

H: "Oh, vomit."

Me: "So you did vomit?"
H: "Oh... yep."

It was a wonderful way to start the new decade, and my favourite part as always was the desserts. I'll leave you with some pics of the deliciousness that was. What did you get up to this weekend?

Vanilla slice and cake pops - WOW. Courtesy of my sisters in law

My amazing cake thanks to my girl Hel

Ermagherd mousse cups, well done J!

Happy Birthday to me!