How do you go from having a reasonable 30 people party, ( including kids) on a public holiday to celebrate a non-milestone birthday and a significant national event, to a cram-them-in-until-you-can’t-see of 80 or so (with some opting to leave their kids at home for fear of them being crushed) but who’s counting, event??

Easy!

You let your husband have some say.

Straight away I am going to apologise to anyone who didn’t end up at my place on ANZAC Day to remember the trans-tasman diggers and celebrate my hubby’s birthday, but it’s because the birthday boy must not have either

a) seen you in the last few days or

b) not met you yet.

What started as a discussion a few weeks ago about taking advantage of the public holiday and catching up with some friends we usually see a lot socially, but haven’t due to a ridiculously busy start to the year, escalated into a get together extravaganza.

I sent out a quick invite to a few people, and when they courteously inquired as to what they could bring, I replied, “nothing” .

But then as my man started running into more people he kept emailing me an updated list of others to invite. No problem.

At that stage I changed the menu from a BBQ to a Buffet and happily asked our friends to contribute something.

I should have registered the party seismic shift, when some of the original invitees started informing me they were leaving their children at home.

Like a tsunami warning, they felt the tremors of that teutonic bring-a-plate change before the host (me) at ground zero.

On the eve, of the impending party, yet another roll call and another marking up of the numbers.

Will I have enough food? Will I have enough room?

Can I upgrade requests of small salads and nibble plates to a sizzler-style all you can eat offering?

A friend was with me as we did our french homework, when my husband happily popped home to inform me of yet another friend who was now coming with his new partner and blended family of six children and another two couples and their kids, whom he’d forgotten to tell me he’d invited, apparently a week ago.

If you’ve ever read a previous post where I admitted being a little poor at french, let me tell you, I’ve now mastered swearing in that melodious language.

But on the day of the small gathering, a description I used to brain wash myself into a calm (enough) state, I proudly presented my husband his present of a framed and mounted souvenir of his Tour de France  exploits and decided to focus on how lucky I was to be able to be hosting such an event at all.

I love the Anzac Day significance and how fitting that my Kiwi hubby marks his birthday on such a date.

The freedom we now have to be able to bring together friends and celebrate was not lost on me and everyone who piled into my place came with an Anzac spirit.

And thankfully, a plate of beautiful food. Cheese-platters, salads, a fabulous ham, pavlovas and an amazing cake crafted into a bike with green icing, snakes for spokes and smarties for the road.

The bike cake

On this occasion, the mateship was bonded in lycra, with most of the blokes at the gathering, my husband’s cycling mates from his Tour de France epic.

And their wives.

And their children.

And their children’s friends.

But the big gathering was worth it and wonderful.

All coming to create a fabulous day, with great food, fantastic friends and family and for my gorgeous husband it was the party he wanted from the start.

He should have just said so!