Teresa W!

Teresa, if you would e-mail me your address (you’ll find my Contact tab at the top of the page) I will send it on to Robert, who will mail you your copy of Orphanage. Congratulations!

Birthday Rehash

So, as promised, the picture of the Cinnamon Roll Fort (or THE FORTRESS as my boy likes to call it) is shown below. It’s now on my hips and thighs. Not nearly as attractive as I make efforts to sweat it away, but still worth the delish!

The day began at five a.m. Yeah, I’m serious. At our hourse, gift days begin as early as you like. One Christmas the kids got us up at four. Needless to say we went back to sleep immediately after the festivities, but you get the picture. Or maybe not . . .

Sixteen-year-old knocking on the door.

Hubby, swimming up from a nice warm dream (about me, I hope), “Wha?”

The boy, “Hey.”

“Huh?”

“Hey.”

“What?”

“It’s time for my presents.”

“It’s five in the morning. Go back to sleep.”

“Sorry. No can do.”

(Now awake enough to remember the rule.) “Okay, let me talk to your mom.”

I, having just woken from a dream where I was back in high school with a bunch of kids who were wearing hairy black leggings, which made them look like goats, singing songs in a language I didn’t understand, felt somewhat relieved that it wasn’t real because that was just too damn weird, said, “Why don’t we let him open his present from us? We don’t have to wake up his sister until later.”

For those of you who don’t know her, waking up his sister anytime is a tricky process. Always better to let her rise on her own. Preferably sometime after noon.

Hubby, “Okay, come in.”

Birthday boy enters, grinning. I direct him to the rectangular box on the floor, wrapped in green ribbon, blue paper, a shoe box, several layers of cardboard, and a cloth baggy. He rips through it in .02 seconds. It’s exactly what he asked for. “All right!”

Now he’s eyeing the blue gift bag from his sister. Dad says, “You can open that later.”

“Aw.”

I say, “For your own safety, we’d better wait and wake her up at seven.” Did I mention she’s not a morning person? Lovely girl. Would do anything for you. But not until her brain is in full alert. If you ever meet her, I suggest you catch her around nine p.m. That’s when she’s just hitting her stride. Good thing the career she’s considering is mainly a night thing.

Our lunch at Dog ‘N Suds rocked. Nothing like a Bacon Cheeseburger and the world’s finest rootbeer to make your day. Dinner (by request, of course) was chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, macaroni and cheese, crescent rolls and, yeah, The Fortress. We could barely move afterward. Happy birthday, kiddo. I hope the next eighty years are as much fun for you as the first sixteen have been for me.