I turned 37 today. The hubby, in all of his sweetness, surprised me with a birthday dinner last Saturday night. He invited a few friends to meet us at a Top Chef alum Jen Carroll’s new pop-up restaurant, Requin (which auto-corrects on my computer to Sequin, by the way, making me squeal every time I type it). We had a rare grownups only evening among friends where the majority of our socializing is now done through play dates and pre-nap/early bedtime gatherings. I’m still so delighted and touched that everyone made the time and space to come, especially because I know that many of our littles don’t exactly give us the gift of sleeping in the next morning (ours “generously” wake us up around 7:30am).
The next morning, the hubby generously let me sleep in, like really sleep in. I lazed in bed while the kids swirled around him downstairs. I heard dishes clatter and coffee gurgling, and it reminded me of that morning a few weeks ago, during our Snow-tastrophe, when I’d made French toast with balsamic strawberries for the family. We didn’t have any strawberries in the house (because SNOW), but I’d had a bag of frozen berries because sometimes we just get irrational cravings for strawberries around here.