Happy Birthday Jodi!

So my beautiful wife told me I had to "bring it" this year for her birthday.

I plan a get together with all her family at Buca de Beppo in Southlake. Then...Jack and Molly are crawling around like little monsters (sweet natured monsters like the furry ones on sesame street - but monsters none the less). Jodi doesn't even get to order anything for herself - everything is served family style, so Jack and Molly need pizza, so there is one, and then Jodi's parents pick the other. We eat hastily and I had told our lovely waitress that it was Jodi's birthday so she comes over to the table with what I think would be a nice piece of cake and instead just brings out some old candelabra and has us sing "happy birthday" - that was it. What a rip.

So off to the cheesecake factory to get some cheesecake to go and eat in southlake town square by the fountain. At the notoriously slow counter there is some soutlake lady just hogging the counter guy. I am ready to go as are probably the three people standing in line behind me, but since the world revolves around her she takes her sweet time picking then changing then repicking then rechanging her order. Then haggles over some coupon. Lady you live in southlake...you can afford three pieces of cheesecake, coupon or no coupon.

During this time Jack has been crying unrelentingly for Gordon from Thomas the Train because he knows that we buy them at Barnes and Noble next door. So it is timeout for Jack. At least uncle Cody and aunt Nicole are here to help entertain.

Finally we get to order and then another 10 minutes goes by waiting for it to be our turn for the little slip of paper to be printed out back behind the counter, the surly southlake teen who is pissed that mommy and daddy actually made him get a job get around to looking at said piece of paper and then putting them in a to go box. What is so hard and time consuming about this? What can't the guy that took our order just get the cakes? The cheesecakes are pre-sliced. They are sitting right there in the counter. It isn't that hard to pull a slice out, place it in a container, flop some whip cream on it. All this customer service for $7 a slice.

Got the cakes so out to the fountain. It just happens to be about 120 degrees outside - good times. So we eat our cake, play a bit in the fountain then gather our sweet children up who scream that they want to go anywhere but home with us. Ah what love.

So I figure we definitely "brought it" - just maybe not in the sense Jodi was expecting.

Jodi, thank you so much for letting me spend your birthday's with you. I hope you have a wonderful day today! I love you very much.

Booster, booster be a booster. Don't be grouchy like a rooster.

Once The Kid reads the title of this post, like me he will be transported back to Memorial VBS. The better half has a great post about a funny VBS memory on her blog - which also is another valuable insight into her personality, check out the link to the right - and that got me thinking about my own VBS memories.

There was a hierarchal order to things at our VBS, at least how I saw it. About midway through elementary school when you are still trying to be the person to bring the most visitors and win a sticker or extra cookie or something, you realize there are bigger kids here and they are having a bit more fun. I guess in a way without realizing it this was my first exposure to a corporate hierarchy.

First thing you could do once you were in jr high and too old and too cool to "enjoy" VBS is to be a tribe leader. Well not actually a leader, more like a helper. This meant you were paired with some adult who would squash all your dreams of making the little first graders in your tribe be your slaves for the week. Very much a buzzkill. Also, you actually found out you have to track these little heathens around for 2 or 3 hours. What kind of reward is this? Plus you had to wear a bathrobe all around church.

So then you can move up to playing a part in one of the theme rooms. Allows a little more freedom, but still there is that adult who wants to hold a little to fast to the stated curriculum and won't allow for your freedom of interpretation of just what it would have smelled like in the belly of a whale. Similar to this was working in the kitchen. Plus - access to cookies. Minus - you never have a chance to eat them or get incredulous looks when you do.

The ultimate job, the one that once you have it you know you were at the top of the heap...puppeteer. You almost certainly had to be in high school to be responsible enough to handle the puppeteer duties. And freshmen and sophs usually got the rattier puppets or the ones that had to be the "good" kids in the skit. But by senior year you had your pick. You could be the "bad" puppet - allows for much more artistic license or if you have enough clout you could be the most coveted puppet of all - the furry blue monster with the detached hand. The two handed puppet! Good times!

I went off on a whole rant to the better half about puppets and the greatness therein, but I will save the dear readers of this blog that pain.

Nighttime songs

I can't recall exactly how it started...in one of the desperate attemts to get Jack to go to sleep in his big boy bed and calm him down I just started to sing. Now each night as we put Molly right to bed and she sweetly goes to sleep, then we start the routine with Jack. Read some books - I say some because once you are done with one he will tell you the next one to read - until you have to cut him off. And how do we cut him off - by singing songs.

It is a little like the piano bar at Pat O'Brians for nighttime in Jacks bed. I sing a song and then it is either "do it again" or a request for another of the timeless classics. Right now we are still on church songs, so in that respect it is probably night and day from a night at Pat O's.

Sometimes this routine seems to drag on and on, and some nights I wonder why big brother can't be a bit more like little sister when it comes to sleep. But then there are nights like tonight, where momma actually put him to sleep, but then 15 minutes later he starts to cry. So I walk in to ask what is wrong and I hear "Sing a song - Jesus loves me".

Thank you Jack for letting me sing to you.