Birthday Week
Jennifer Flaten

As for my birthday, yes, I am still talking about it. Me and my birthday, that’s all I talk about these days. You’re darn lucky I couldn’t afford a skywriter

In fact, I plan to talk about my birthday for the next four days because it will be another year until I can again, really four more years, before I can legally blather on and on about how super special it is to be a leap year baby. Anyway, since it is a milestone birthdays, I went out to a, drum roll please, real restaurant.

I mean a restaurant that uses authentic napkins, china and the meal doesn’t come in a cardboard box. I’ve heard of such places, but with three children could only dream. Imagine eating at a place where the smell of French fries hasn’t permeated everything including the salads.

Finally, I know the joy of eating a meal that doesn’t come with a cheap plastic toy. Although, this particular restaurant had paper table clothes or maybe that was just for me. After escorting me to the table, the server rushed off to grab a huge sheet of paper, which she smoothed down over the regular tablecloth.

I hadn’t even ordered, yet. I am sure if I would have ordered something, messy like lobster, yes, it is messy the way I eat it, or spaghetti she would have come back with plastic to cover the booth and me. I‘ll take all the help I can get.

I must admit it was nice to have something to doodle on while waiting for the food. It is a good thing I always carry crayons in my purse. The downside is occasionally I write a check in crayon, which the cashiers do not find amusing. 

It was very nice restaurant, but I did spend the entire meal expecting someone to ask me to cut his or her meat. I also blurted, “Get off of there,” once or twice. I developed that tic, probably because I have children.

Although the meal was delicious, did I mention the crème brulee, it was lacking in excitement. Usually, our meals out are a race against the clock to see if everyone finishes their food before management asks us to leave. You think I joke: there are several eateries we can’t step foot in, again, due to unfortunate “accidents” involving chicken nuggets and the ceiling fan.

Meanwhile, as I was eating a quiet meal, the kids were planning a “surprise” birthday party for me. If you’re keeping score that means I had two desserts. Yes, it is hard to plan a surprise party for your mother when you are under the driving age.

By tacit agreement, I pretended I didn’t know they were planning a party. I just ignored the paper plates, napkins and streamers they loaded into the cart last shopping trip.

After returning home, I was surprised they didn’t burn down the house while I was gone, or convince the babysitter to invest in a parcel of land they have in the everglades. I caught her just as she was going to sign on the dotted line.

My kids have a future as event planners, the house was decorated quite nicely, there was a cake with candles, the small amount, not the large amount; I know I am full of hot air but not that much, and I am pleased to report that the cat eluded capture and didn’t end up the centerpiece.