The hubs turned 60 yesterday and we celebrated by throwing a brunch/watch party for 22 people. Appetizers for the 10:30 a.m. affair were mini cinnamon rolls from our favorite bakery and an assortment of deviled eggs (spicy, honey mustard and guacamole) along with mimosas and a Bloody Mary bar using Zing Zang, my favorite mix (and I've tried them all). Lunch at half-time included brisket, cheesy potatoes (the b'day boy's favorite), fruit salad and boozy Irish-inspired cupcakes from this amazing recipe.
I was so busy cooking all day Friday and hosting on Saturday (when do I get to "just call a caterer" like one of my wealthy friends suggested?) I took no photos until this morning. I am still exhausted from head to toe. It's shocking how tired I am.
The extent of the decorations.
The classy necklace I made him wear.
Except for the unfortunate outcome of the game, a good time was had by all. Every time I turned around, the hubs was passing around the x-ray of his new hip. (I can remember when he used to pass around illegal herbs. Oh, how our parties have changed over the years.)
Afterward, we both took a two-hour nap. This morning, the old man asked what I wanted to do for my 60th birthday (which is more than a year-and-a-half away, mind you). I replied, "Ignore it and go away, preferably to Mexico."