Sunday, November 18,
2011
Eight years ago, I laid in bed late one night in our home in
Fullerton, California, while Ryan studied for his optometry exams in the next
room. All of a sudden, I was wet. Yucky wet.
I got out of bed, water streaming down my legs, and knocked
on the bathroom door.
“Ryan, I think my
water just broke.”
Many hours later in a hospital down the road, our daughter
Kate was born.
This Sunday we celebrated Kate’s eighth birthday. Or rather, all week long we celebrated Kate’s
birthday. On Friday, she brought
school-approved, nutritionally acceptable treats to her class—Pirate Booty. Saturday night, Kate went on a dinner and ice
skating date with Mom and Dad. Sunday
morning, Kate woke up to a breakfast in bed of scrambled eggs, bacon, Pillsbury
orange rolls, and orange juice. Sunday
night, at Kate’s request, we had the Y. Family to dinner.
Kate met one of the two Y. Family girls in
kindergarten. Several play dates, art
classes, and birthday parties later, we have gotten to know this cute family
better. They fit the Canadian stereotype
I discovered a few years ago: Canadians
are simply very nice, easy-going, well-mannered people.
A few days before Sunday, Kate wrote up the menu:
- Fruit Dip with fruit
- Roasted garlic mashed potatoes
- Brazilian white rice
- Feijoada
If no one else had been invited to dinner, I probably would
have cooked up Kate’s request as written.
However, I wasn’t going to subject our guests to Kate’s quirky fantasy foods on their first meal at our home.
Instead, I compromised. I served
chicken enchiladas with tomatillo sauce, Feijoada, Brazilian rice, grapes, and
chips with salsa, black bean dip, and hot nacho cheese dip.
Kate does not like birthday cake, so I did pick up a
traditional grocery store, wildly-decorated sheet cake for dessert. Kate wanted apple pie. A smarter mother would have bought a pre-made
pie at Marie Calendars and called it a day.
I wasn’t that smart. I battled
with a difficult pie crust, rolling it out, scrapping the dough and starting
over at least three times. However, I ultimately
prevailed and served up hot apple pie with a crumble topping and eight pink
candles. Kate was happy.
After a few hours of playing and chatting around the kitchen
table, the Y. Family headed home. I felt
very lucky that they were available and willing to spend the evening with
us. I hope all of Kate’s birthdays are
this easy, but I wouldn’t be surprised if next year she says,
“Mom, I want a BIG birthday
party!”
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