The little angel's first birthday party is over.  Ah, how good it feels to write that.  We had a good turnout - probably at least thirty people, including seven in-laws, two of whom stayed in my house. 

It didn't start out to be a perfect experience.  My beloved went to pick up the balloons.  He called on his way home from the grocery store, saying cryptically, "You get to pick up the balloons."  When he arrived home, I learned that after he put one bag of twelve helium balloons in the car, he then snagged the second bag on the car door.  As he wrestled with it, it got away, hovering deliciously for a second about three feet above his head.  Of course, he jumped for it and missed.  Just as he was standing in the middle of the grocery store parking lot, feeling dejected, he heard a slight rustling sound.  He turned just in time to see the other bag float heavenward.

Of course, his immediate reaction was to pretend nothing had happened.  He walked back into the grocery store, pretending to talk on his cell phone.  "Yes, dear," he said.  "Twenty-five more," he told the counter people.

When I went back, I took the cake to the car first, then returned to the counter, determined not to let history repeat itself.  When I went to pick up the order, the counter lady looked at my kindly.  "I gave you a discount," she said. "Someone in the parking lot told me what happened to your husband."  Ha.

The little angel properly covered herself in chocolate birthday cake, went willingly to anyone who would hold her and did not melt down until shortly after the bath, when most of the guests had already left. My mother- and father-in-law fell asleep sitting up downstairs as I chatted with the remaining guests.  Then, the house was quiet, the silence broken only by the rustling of the beautiful balloons.