a) thrown a fit, because having two major holidays on the same day is a rip-off, or
b) declared that it didn't matter, seeing how I celebrate my birthday month,
depending on my mood, the phase of the moon, and the attitudes of resident teenagers.
The WH took it in stride, as he is wont to do.
I tried to extend the celebration and spoil him a wee bit more than usual. On Saturday, we went to the house of some friends for a barbeque. At this barbeque, among kicking Moose's hiney at singing "It's Tricky" on SingStar and other weird things that I will not mention, we sang "Happy Birthday" and made the WH blow out the 4-0 candles on the cheesecake I either
a) worked my fingers to the bone making from scratch, or
b) bought from Costco.
|weird thing I will not mention|
The effects of their labors were marvelous. When we turned the corner, there it was, front-and center in the driveway.
"What is THAT?" was the Wonder Hub's astounded response to our collective giggling.
"Happy birthday!" we all cried, as boys tumbled out of the truck and onto our new court, where they played 'til dark.
I'm pretty sure the (all girl house) neighbors are thrilled with the constant thump, thump, thumping. We set off their car alarm twice that first night. I'm probably going to have to do a lot of baking to make up for it, but it will be totally worth it.
Sunday morning I gave the WH a gift certificate for a massage, which we sent him off for after church. After a lazy afternoon of "Burn Notice" reruns and general sloth, we grilled this recipe, steamed rice, pulled this pasta salad out of the fridge, packed it all to the table on the deck, lit some candles and chowed down.
|kabob photo op|
After dinner, we brought out the red raspberry streusel and lit the obligatory trick candles, sang and made the WH blow them out over and over until someone accused him of spitting on the streusel.
"Now you're as old as me. Ha."