Happy Birthday Husband!

Today I woke up knowing that it was my husband's 41st birthday. I spent much of yesterday running around shopping for it. I spent some of last night wrapping presents with the Rabbit, hidden away in the back room trying hard to do things quickly. I had a pile of small items for my daughter to give her Daddy and a bigger pile of items for me to hand over. Well that was before the kleptomaniacal but generous 5 year old rearranged the piles. You can imagine her excitement this morning when she screamed "Happy Birthday Daddy" and announced that there was one gift of gifts from her, and another from Mummy AND her. "Isn't that right Mummy?" she manipulatively questioned. What could I say?

As I said, I woke up knowing that today was Mr G's birthday. I was most bemused to find during the course of what a crazy great rush on my part, that it was also Useless, Old Chubba Day at the local supermarket. Never before have I seen so many wide backsides, so many purple rinses, so many ancient people going slower and taking up the aisles when I couldn't have been in a bigger hurry.They all seemed to be searching for biscuits in anything but the biscuit aisle. I needed cake ingredients and I needed them fast because having spent an hour and a half at the school helping the five year olds with mathematics and getting into and out of swimming togs my day was getting shorter and shorter. Typically it has also been a day where the Eftpos has been down. "I can hold your items for you and you can come back later or go for cash" droned the check out chick who could have told me sooner. I went for cash, came back to find myself at the end of the queue again - a queue of bemused old chubbas not knowing that they would be unable to pay for their biscuits. When I finally managed to pay for my goods and get out the door I'd been laden with how terrible the day had been for everybody in my way. I'm rather proud that I got out the door with telling them all I couldn't give a fuck.

So I have made a cake. A carrot cake. Mr G's favourite. I have yet to ice it, I have flown into town (in the car, at roadwork pace but my mind was racing) to pick up a prescription, chatted to my mother and returned to find I have 27 minutes to let my darling husband know that my fingertips have exploded and I'm blogging our lives for the world to see, but that I love him and I shall try and tidy the house before he gets home for his birthday dinner. Which he is cooking himself. I would of course offer to cook for him, but he's chosen a barbecued meal, and I am not allowed to touch the barbecue. Because he is a man. And I am not. And that is really all I have time for before the school bell rings. I just wish it was time for a wine...