Eighth Sunday and Number 13

Thirteen years ago, at 8:00 in the morning, my number 2 baby was born, bawling and wailing. Beautiful baby with ocean green eyes, long as a beanpole and sweet as honeysuckle.Fast forward thirteen years and he still has the most gorgeous green eyes, he's still as tall as a beanpole (almost taller than his dad) and still sweet as honeysuckle. He's an incredible writer, a fantastic artist, a so-so mathematician and the funniest guy you could ever want to meet. Oh... and he's known since he's was three he wants to be an architect/designer/ruler of the world. I think he and his brother are practically perfect and I'll keep them both. He has taken us under his designer wing and taught us more about architecture and furniture and design periods than I thought possible. What can I say... I guess we're lucky.

On Sunday then, a very important birthday was celebrated with yet another lovely Sunday dinner. All the usual suspects, plus the loving grandparents attended, cooked and ate. The birthday meal ordered up was: loads of mussels in white wine broth, linguine with parsley al'olio (he doesn't like pasta, but the others do), baby green salad with avocado (he can't quite love the avocado or the salad... but I have hope), and lots and lots of No Knead bread to sop up the juices. For dessert - something he tried out in Kansas with his favorite Aunt - Red Velvet cake with white vanilla bean frostings (like the Sixth Sunday chocolate cupcakes).

Hardly any pictures to post since we were too busy devouring the meal to take the time and take pictures. Just some of the Red Velvet cake and the birthday candles. Click on the picture to see the insides of this gooey cake. Yum....