Happy Birthday to Me!

Today is my birthday. On any normal morning, I rise earlier than the birds in order to shower, get at least one cup of coffee in me, and enjoy the last vestiges of peace before my house erupts in children. This morning I was determined to sleep in. Jensen, the 17 month old, had other plans. He wakes everyone up with his morning song at about 6:30 a.m. Sweetly, Tom sends me back to bed, but no sleep is forthcoming. I arise a second time, feeling a bit worse than the first, but am greeted by a birthday banner and sweet cards made by the husband and my girls. Emme, the six year old says “Mommy, you look pretty good for 47”. “46” I correct her.

The decision is made that we would all go out to breakfast to celebrate. Tom was going to St. Augustine for business later in the morning, and would not be able to take me out to dinner. I take what I can get. I love dining out. I love the entire dining experience. I just want to plant my behind on some naugahyde, peruse a menu (preferably with pictures), make a selection, and not have to jump up the entire meal to retrieve anything or anyone from the kitchen. Oh yeah, and rely on someone else to clear and do the dishes. Sheer heaven.

So, we pile into the van to go to Mimi’s. There are no pictures on the menu, but the naugahyde is fabulous. We settle into the booth while Tom wrestles Jensen into the high chair. I say “wrestle” because most activities involving Jensen and something he doesn’t want to do include a lot of struggle, sweat and sometimes a little blood. I know this as fact because every diaper change is a fight to the death.

So, as a grown man goes 10 rounds with this pint-size terror-in-Thomas-the-Tank-sneakers, all heads begin to turn. When Jensen starts screaming at the top of his little lungs, my husband has to holler over all of the noise, “Maybe we should sit outs…”. Before he can finish the sentence, we’re whisked out to the deserted patio area. Where the smokers are relegated. I follow, toting my coffee cup, a diaper bag, and the snack bag, apologizing as I go to anyone staring at us. Which was pretty much everyone. As far as our new dining accommodations go, please note that this is Florida…in August. Enough said. So we set up the DVD player on the table (don’t judge me), and between me and Tom manage to maneuver Junior into the high chair. Then we settle into our hard plastic chairs, where I immediately begin to sweat, and then stick.

I flashback to a time when Tom and I were “child free” and were having dinner with good friends of ours, who did have children. The kid at the table behind ours was screeching a sound that only dogs should hear. My husband I were incredulous that our friends could carry on a conversation as though nothing were wrong, while our hair was parting in the back.

So, back to breakfast. I decide to step off my Southbeach diet bandwagon in honor of my special day and order the French Toast. And as long as I kept shoveling food into the small boy, our private patio dining experience wasn’t too bad. Well, except for the sweating….and the flies. But, the kindly and patient server packed me a to-go box with yummy muffins for my birthday. This is my kind of restaurant, I think to myself. Of course, we won’t be back until Jensen goes off to college.

We thankfully arrive back at home, and Tom heads off to St. Augustine. The girls and I begin to snack on muffins. In fact, that was our lunch. My phone rings. My sister-in-law Trish tells me to go to my front door. Outside waiting for me were balloons, a present, and a pan of freshly baked brownies (with a candle). “Oh boy” I exclaim, now we’ve got dinner covered! At this point I’ve nose-dived off of my little red diet-wagon and it has run over me.

At about 9 in the evening, Tom returns, bringing me a bottle of port wine. The kind that you unscrew. That’s my favorite wine. And it only has about 620 grams of sugar per glass.

So, I sit here thoroughly disgusted with myself, with a shot glass of maalox, watching “Celebrity Fit Club”. I suppose I’ll climb back onto my little diet wagon tomorrow. But today, IS MY BIRTHDAY! I bet that last brownie isn’t quite frozen yet…….