And then she was one.

This week, 9.9.10 to be exact, was Elvis' birthday. The day came and went and it was nice and happy and we didn't do much because, well, because she is 1, what the hell does she know?

But I had planned for a party. Of my friends and family, it was held today.

I spent too much money and put in too many hours of work for a party she will never remember and probably wasn't too aware of all together but it was one of the funniest things I have done in a long time. 

Cutting out felt flowers and hanging them from the ceiling. Stringing feathered butterflies from the lights in the kitchen... I did it all for her. I was 100% in my element, I baked chocolate cupcakes and 2 pumpkin pies. I made Palmiers with pesto and sundried tomatoes and ham and cheese puff pastry straws. I made mimosas and home-made paperdolls, I spent countless hours with a pair of scissors in my hands and constantly thinking about "what else do I want to remember about this day? What else do I want to see in pictures when she is grown and she is showing pictures to her kids, of her 1st birthday? And in the end, I was happy, I thought there is nothing else. I have thought of everything. I did it, I was ready on time, everything was delicious and the baby was happy and my son was happy and the guests were happy. 

Wow.

(pics to come)