Birthday madness

What a week...and weekend...Husband's birthday was Thursday, so there were presents to be bought and cupcakes to be baked. And bacon to be prepared. Thursday morning, I made a "grandma breakfast" (i.e. the kind of breakfast my grandma makes: biscuits, eggs, grits, and lots of bacon). Sam loves biscuits. He also made a good showing with the grits and scrambled eggs. He definitely gets his appetite from my side of the family. This is not a child with Pennsylvania tastes. Oh, no. This is a child who will appreciate the simple beauty of a thick slice of tomato, still warm from the sun, nestled between two slices of lightly toasted white bread. This does mean, of course, that I'll have to start buying white bread. We've been a strictly wheat bread household since...well, forever. But fresh tomatoes do cry out for white bread. As Cookie Monster would say, it's a "sometimes food." Anyway, I made an absurd amount of bacon, which Sam did not get to try, but Husband sure seemed to appreciate it. And who, for that matter, wouldn't? My dear friend Mama N tells me that there is a recipe that involves weaving a sort of mat out of bacon, sprinkling it with cheese, rolling it up in a log and then baking it. The idea of a bacon mat intrigues me. Let us pause and contemplate the possibilities...

Spent Friday consoling a furious baby and preparing a ridiculously huge meal to formally celebrate Husband's birth. Sam was miserable with a molar breaking through, and after a disasterous grocery store trip, he finally went down for his first nap at around two in the afternoon. Vi came over, and after observing the insanity that is preparing a meal and caring for a cranky kid at the same time, I think she has vowed to remain childless for all time. Were I in her shoes, I would probably make the same vow. It isn't that Sam's a bad kid. On the contrary, I think he is, for the most part, a dream. But raising a kid is a pretty tough job. Heck, not even raising him, just keeping him from hurting himself on a daily basis is exhausting. However, the meal was successfully prepared. I made a maple and thyme glazed pork roast, scalloped potatoes, roasted spring vegetables, yeasty dinner rolls, and this chocolate-covered strawberry cake. I was so proud of this cake. Really, it's going down in my personal history of dessert successes.We took the food to Husband's parents' house, and celebrated his birth. Many props to Husband's mother. He's a good man, my Husband. He's smart, he's funny, kind, loving, ridiculously talented, and he posesses the truly rare ability to do embarassing things just for a laugh. It's a quality that I admire above nearly all others. No one has ever been so good to me, or made me laugh as much, as Husband. Not to mention his stunning parenting abilities. And his charisma. So, for the record, he's not perfect, but he's as close as anyone I've ever known. Okay. Gushing is over. I promise.

We spent all day Saturday at the theater, working on the set and rehearsing. Sam was surprisingly good (I'm not sure why I'm always so surprised when he's good...I guess since I was tired and a little cranky, I expected him to be, too) and he loved, I mean LOVED, watching the tap number. He watched, enthralled, and waved his arms around and clapped and squealed. It was beyond precious. As soon as this kid can walk, I'm getting him some tap shoes. And sure, there are those who pooh-pooh this idea, thinking I'm trying to steer him toward performing arts instead of sports, but if he showed the same interest in baseball, I'd get him...some sort of baseball paraphenalia. I'd have to find out what that is, but surely Husband can help out in that department. And to those who think dancing is a sort of sissy activity, I invite you to come to one of our choreography rehearsals and see if you're in good enough shape to handle it. And boys who can dance are in really high demand. Always will be. Just think about Fred Astaire. He was not an attractive man, but everyone loved him. And it wasn't because he was a particularly outstanding actor, either.

Drove to Tennessee after rehearsal to give Sam some Nana time. We got to see both sets of great-grandparents and great-aunt Sherry. A good time was had by all.

When Vi came over on Friday, she brought me Season 2 of a fabulously bad TV show from the 80's...perhaps you remember 21 Jumpstreet? Johnny Depp? Keeping kids off drugs? Ham-fisted, morally obvious plotlines? Hiliarious pants? Well, this morning, I had very retro breakfast of Eggo waffles while watching the racially diverse cast of young, hip, streetwise cops take down a high school crack dealer. It was, in a word, sublime. To take it to the next level, Husband came in to inform me that he spent his morning downloading New Kids on the Block Super Hits for me. Oh, yes. This man knows the wayto my heart. Please don't go, girl. Please don't go. I had some major second grade flashbacks.See, once upon a time, shortly after we were engaged, I halfway joked that he was going to make all my dreams come true. He took me quite literally. From that moment, he vowed to make all my dreams I've ever had, not just my current dreams, come true. We're talking Barbie Dreamhouse kind of stuff. Easy Bake Ovens. Starring in Annie. While he's still working on that one, he has come upon the opportunity to right a serious wrong that occured in my childhood. When I was little, my brother and my cousin got to go see New Kids on the Block in Knoxville. I, being desperately in love with Joey,was not allowed to go. Picture, if you will, my little broken heart. I was in second or third grade. They, cruelly, didn't come home with tales of how great the concert was, but with that cool, offhanded manner reserved for fifth or sixth graders who have done something they knew you were dying to do. Disillusioned is probably the best word for how I felt. Well, last October I had the chance to see them again in Charlotte with said cousin (who, by the way, has outgrown her cruelty and has actually turned into one of the nicer people I'm related to, and certainly one of the coolest) but I had to do makeup and hair for Zombie Prom with F.I.R.E. (Fountain Inn Repertory Experience). Convinced that that was my last chance to see them before they were, you know, senile, I resigned myself to a New Kids-deprived existence. But then. Oh, then. Husband brought home tickets. And tomorrow, I will be Hangin' Tough. That's right. And since none of my girlfriends share this unfulfilled childhood obsession, Husband has very sweetly agreed to go with me. I'm halfway between being giddy and being embarassed. That's a healthy place to be, I think. Speaking of the 80's, I've been listening to the soundtrack of The Wedding Singer (the musical based on the movie), which F.I.R.E. is doing next season, and all I can say is that it is quite possibly the most hilarious thing I've ever heard. I'm wary of turning movies into musicals, but this is awesome. I'm just waiting for Terminator: The Musical! As long as they're making stage shows out of movies, when am I going to get to see The Blues Brothers? Or Labyrinth? That would make a great musical. MUCH better than, ahem, Legally Blonde.

Perhaps I'm turning into a snob.

Oh, well.

A girl's got to have standards.

Excuse me, I have to go krimp my hair. Gotta look good for Joey.