My husband turned 33 last weekend. He went snowboarding to celebrate. I babysat about ten kids.
We had plans to go to dinner Saturday night to celebrate. We signed up for the Tucano's Birthday club a few years back and every year they send us a buy one get one free coupon for his birthday. If you have been to Tucano's, you know what a great deal that is.
I spent all of Saturday at the Pinewood Derby. I am the Bears pack leader? Den mother? I'm not sure exactly what I do. But after hours of chasing 9 year old boys around, cheering for small wooden cars and then sweeping the entire church gym, I was exhausted and so ready for some grilled pineapple and garlic sirloin. Mmmmmm. I held off on a snack and we dropped the kids off at my parents house.
I was starving by the time we got there.
I'm not sure why, but we hadn't thought ahead far enough to call and make a reservation. But the wait was going to be 60 to 90 minutes. As the hostess said it, I just wanted to cry. We called my parents to make sure they didn't mind watching the kids for that extra hour or so.
"You should go somewhere else," my mom immediately replied. "In fact, I'm really glad you called. Everyone's okay. . . " (my heart is sinking rapidly) "but the kids were playing soccer and Eden hit her head."
"Okay. . . "
"I've got the bleeding stopped now, but you're going to need to take her in. Grab a bite to eat on your way home. They are eating now."
At this point, all hope of Brazillian cheese balls has been dashed. My husband is fully composed, despite the fact that it is his birthday dinner that has been ruined. I was the one lamenting the whole car ride back and refusing to eat anything less than good fries with fry sauce.
My mom was right, the cut warranted 5 staples. And I got a peanut butter shake in the deal.