My Birthday Part 2: What Actually Happened

One great thing from last year’s birthday that I WAS able to preserve this year was having brunch with two of my besties, including Neighbor. I checked off a minor bucket list item of finally trying an açaí bowl. It did not disappoint.

Tasty little super food, with some other yummy foods to boot, on a beautiful wooden table.

And, Neighbor got me two of my favorite guilty pleasures:

Chex Mix, OF COURSE, and also Rockstars, which I occasionally partake of when I have a martial arts class and about zero energy to make it through. (Don’t judge.) At any rate, I love how she gets me.

That evening, since my Grand Band Plan didn’t work out, I invited friends to hang out at a restaurant. Here’s the good, the bad, and the ugly (not in that order):

I opened the restaurant door on my foot, thus cutting my toe. I’ll spare you yet another foot injury pic. It didn’t bleed or hurt much, so whatever, but it wasn’t a terrific start to the night.

To the 20-something waitress who showed us to our table, I said, “I like your nose ring. I thought about getting one too, [note to readers: not seriously. Just making conversation.] but I do Jiu-Jitsu, so I’d have to take it in and out before and after each class.”

“Oh, yeah, and they close up so quickly,” she said. “That’s awesome you do Jiu-Jitsu. So did my mom.”

And just like that, I go from relating to a 20-something to being compared to her mom, which, to be fair, is more accurate.

We were given two outdoor tables: numbers 9 and 10, which I thought appropriate, since my birthday was 9/10. 🙂

Our time at the restaurant was pleasant, and the weather was unnoticeable, which is to say, it was perfect. I was surprised that many friends gave me cards. Here are a couple (slideshow) from a fellow pun-lover and a friend who also appreciates the joy of randomness:

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After our drinks and french fries (we’d eaten dinner with the kids earlier–fish tacos at Rubios), Hubby and I took the scenic route up and down the parking garage looking for our car. When we initially parked, we did so near a friend and started talking with him immediately rather than taking note of our parking space. He left the restaurant a half hour before us, so walking closely behind him, acting as though we knew exactly where we were heading, was not an option.

Lo and behold, when the object of our vehicular search was at last in site, the bottom of one of my shoes fell off.

I dug these back out the trash just to show you. You’re welcome.

The shoes hurt to the point where I had considered walking barefoot through the garage, anyway, but didn’t because, eww. I was more relieved for an excuse to get rid of them than anything else. So, aside from walking the rest of the way with one step higher than the other, I’ll consider that a win. Good riddance, evil shoes.

Now, backing up to earlier in the day, my girls had festooned the house with festive streamers and creative displays of plants.

This and a couple vases of flowers. I love the uniqueness.

Creative Hubby had gone to Lowe’s and picked up a paint sample of each person in the family’s favorite color, had them write a note to me on it, then tied them together with string.

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  One daughter found heart-shaped leaves.

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Ten points for thoughtfulness right? Feel free to steal this idea.

And when I came home from Jiu-Jitsu, I walked into my room to find this:

Hubby, who knows I love birch trees, constructed this for me in the evenings while I was at martial arts. You may recall he also built my belt rack. He’s teaching himself woodworking and doing an amazing job.

He also enabled me to broaden my salt-tooth horizons by getting me these:

Be still my heart. And my taste buds. Move over Cheddar Chex Mix!!!

But since I’m not ALL salty, I’ll end with this story.

Every once in a while we hear the ice cream truck ambling down the main street our cul de sac is attached to. It occurred to me that I have never gotten ice cream from an ice cream truck; therefore, bucket list, obviously.

I mentioned this to Hubby, so when we heard the music down yonder on August 31, he asked if I wanted to go get some ice cream.

“No,” I said. “Not yet. It’s not even my birthday month. I want to hold out.”

“Okay.” He shrugged.

On September 10, when I was drying Little Joe off after his bath, (It may have been my birthday, but I’m still a mom.) Hubby called down the hallway that he heard the ice cream truck.

“Hurry!” I said to Joe. “We gotta get you dressed! The ice cream truck!”

There may be no better way to motivate a five-year-old to get a move on.

We ran, en masse, down our street, me pumping my fist as I yelled to my bewildered neighbor in his front yard, “Ice cream truck on my birthday!”

We chased that puppy down, then waited for the four barefoot, age-appropriate youngsters to purchase their treats before we ordered our own.

Just as the ice cream man started his engine to move on, Hubby said, “Do you want to get a picture?”

“Oooh! Yes!”

I knocked on the window, and the man shut off the engine. I apologized and explained my whole [insanity] wanting to get ice cream from an ice cream truck on my birthday because I never had before, and I can’t believe he’s actually here, etc. etc. and would he mind a picture?

Never too old to act like a kid, right?

Not only did he come to the window to indulge me for the picture, he gave me a free ice cream and wished me a happy birthday.

Day officially made.

Now how can I top this next year?

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