Well, another year under my belt. While I don't make a big deal of my birthday, evidently people who have come into my life did.
The original agenda for the day was to attend the midget football game to watch my daughter cheer and then come home to get ready for a birthday dinner out. I guess planning the day doesn't always work.
My husband decided to not attend the game in order to take Noah's dirt bike in for a few minor tweaks. Okay. He usually works on Saturdays anyhow, so it was nothing unusual. I called my mom to see if she wanted to go being that she had the day off, and she decided to go. It was great to sit and watch Cheyenne get her groove on with my mom and my sons (Cheyenne LOVES to perform for people.). Priceless moment.
Before leaving the field, all of the cheerleaders I coach gathered around to sing "Happy Birthday" to their favorite coach. I got hugs and high fives from all the girls. I truly felt the love.
We were headed home when my cell phone rang. It was the husband calling to tell me that things had once again changed and that I should stop at McDonald's to feed the kids (State law requires that.). Okay. Not an issue. A little disappointed, I did just that.
In the middle of scarfing down fast food, my phone rang again. It was the hubby. By this time, I was getting irritated with the constant calling. Could I stop at the video store and get a movie? Sure. I'm starting to feel like a glorified secretary.
We make it home empty-handed as nothing looked worth watching to me. Screw it. He doesn't need no stinkin' movie. He met me at the car and ordered the kids out.
"There was a guy lurking around the neighbor's house. Can you go check it out?" Grabbed my Lady Smith .38 and left to drive up the road looking for a possible intruder. No one in sight. Back home to tear someone a new ass. I just want to go home!
I get into the house. The silence was deafening as I headed straight for the bedroom to change clothes and get settled in for the night. As I passed the kitchen, the strains of "Happy Birthday" echoed off the walls. My cherubs were all seated around the kitchen table with a cake that was about to be devoured by wax and flames if I didn't stop. We ate cake, and the hubby once again started barking orders.
"Go let the dog in. He's been outside on the lead for a while."
"You've got legs! And that's what we have Noah for!" I replied.
He said, "Noah's going to help me in the garage. We've gotta get moving so we're not up until midnight." Cursing that man under my breath, I went downstairs to let Zeus in.
I get downstairs and reach for the doorknob to open the door and let the fifth child in. That's when I'm stopped by the man I've started to refer to as He Who Walks Behind the Rows.
"Don't let Zeus in," he says. This is when I started letting the expletives fly. I had had enough of his orders and indecision.
Somewhere in the middle of my rant, he grabs me by the shoulders. Before I could react and rip his arms from their sockets, he turns me around. Sitting in the middle of the floor is a 54" flat screen plasma t.v. My anger left quicker than an intern running from Clinton.
"I got it for you to really be able to enjoy the Steeler games. You've put up with so much of my shit lately, and I wanted to express my love and appreciation for you." I start to think that there is a pod somewhere in the house with my real husband inside. I thanked him profusely (no need for details).
The family spent the rest of the evening mounting the Beast on the wall and hooking up the cable. My job was to sit on the couch and determine the best angle. Nice work if you can get it.
After powering up the monstrosity, all of us wound up watching the Penguins win against the Islanders in a shootout. The kids and I dropped into bed afterwards to dream Penguin dreams and have Steeler premonitions.
I guess turning 43 wasn't so bad after all.