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Another post from The Man –
When you fly the sardine can back from Atlanta to Houston, you’re at times routed through the Gulf for an eastward landing. It’s amazing how calm the sea looks from fifteen thousand feet, but I know there were 8 to 10 foot swells coming in. I’d just finished an intense cloud security training session, and my brain was voraciously consuming the allotted 7% I was able to retain. The test for certification is next week, and it bodes ominously in the grey recesses of my mind. Little C was already sawing twigs when I finally drug my slumped shoulders up stairs, but I checked in on her nonetheless. “Bebe” was clenched firmly in her teeth: the security blanket she’ll most likely carry with her across the graduation stage decades from now, if we’re not able to pry it from her sooner. Mommy Points was diligently finishing another post for you, her delightful cadre of readers, and had the poker-face of all deceptions fixed on her countenance. It didn’t matter… she could have been naked holding a sign decrying the wonders of the next day and I would have simply given her a warm hug as I slipped into bed, slipped into slumber.
This morning was routine, but for the chorus of “Happy Birthday, Dad Daddy” (it’s the thought that counts for a two-year-old) as I got C ready for school. Choc milk, banana, and honey cheerios (“We’re tired of AppJacks. Cheer-OsThankYou.”) and then hopping on the computer to answer the evening’s email before a 7:00AM start. I got C off to school on time, and it was only upon returning that it became obvious that MP had a FULL plan underway. We both work from home, and it’s usually me that tickles the notion of lunch, be it leftovers, a sammich, or the occasional splurge on take-out or an actual restaurant visit. We have a new sports bar in town that is trying desperately to succeed, but no wifi and a complete lack of talent makes for inevitable failure. The food is good, but it’s only a matter of time. MP insisted that we drive separate cars, as she had some errands to run, to which I was determinedly uninvited. I was to drive the 90 minutes to pick up Grandma Carole, in from Kansas, who understandably goes into anaphylactic shock if she goes more than 90 days without visiting Little C.
On the return, I asked mom if she’d mind if we made a stop. MP missed out on today’s Hertz promo (don’t ask me what it was or how to get in on it; I’m not your Huckleberry) because of the sports bar’s internet void, so I decided it was high time Mommy Points’ parent company splurged for a wifi hotspot. Mom and I strolled into an anchor Verizon store, and short story shorter, 45 minutes later we left empty-handed with satisfaction that I will I never be a Verizon customer. As a company, they hire respectable young folks who try their hardest. As for process, they could learn a thing or two. Just my two cents, but getting a wifi hotspot on a new business account should not require a landline. Let me make sure Aunt Gladys is off the party line, Pickle-526
The afternoon was consumed with building MP a new office desk. We remain humble in our respective enterprises. It may seem blissful that we share an office and can work from home. Seventeen percent of the time, that’s true. The rest of the time, one of us is traveling for work, or we’re so caught up in what we’re doing that it barely registers that the other person is present. What does register is the clutter of constant effort, so for the cure, MP’s new desk has more drawers than a Queen concert full of Fat Bottom Girls. Errands complete, MP was mysteriously spending an inordinate amount of time upstairs, but I was so deep in the throes of desk construction that it escaped me. Five o’clock hit like a ton of bricks, and I was given vague instructions of who, how and where the act of picking up Little C and delivering her was to be accomplished. I have to admit, in the back of my mind, I was beginning to feel a tad slighted. “Isn’t this my birthday? Aren’t I supposed to be catered to? Is this thing on?”
After toddler wrangling and getting three grandparents loaded into the truck, we finally were able to head to the super-secret birthday destination. Before even getting to the highway, however, MP called grandma to tell her that she was in gridlock, and that, traffic-wise, the world had come to an end. I’m the type of person that, facing the possibility of immobilizing congestion, will go in the opposite direction, if it means that I continue to be in motion. In all honesty, there’s little I detest more than traffic. I’ve been known to pontificate that I’d rather have a barbed-wire enema than sit in traffic, but since this is a family site, let me simply say that I don’t like lurching behind intermittent yet constant brake lights. Not one bit. What normally is a fourteen minute journey from our home to the super-secret birthday location took nearly and hour, and I was a petulant shrew the entire time. At some point later in the evening, I apologized for being less than cordial during the trip, but suffice to say that I was unpleasant. This too shall pass…
Eventually we were parked, and with C perched happily on my shoulders, we marched into a market of shops. If pressed for a guess on what events had been planned for me, I would say dinner at Tommy Bahamas and tickets to the opening day of Avengers (I pronounce it AVengers, rather than aVENGErs. It’s the only word I unintentionally mispronounce in the entire English lexicon, yet MP bristles every time. I love it.) but I couldn’t have been further in my guess from the truth. With Grandma in the lead, C and I second, and Grandpa and Grandma Carole completing the caravan, we turned out of an alley and the skies parted. There waved my wife, the stunning MP, beckoning us from the balcony of a luxury hotel and holding two bottles of 2010 Canvas Cabs, flanked by a trellis festooned with Tow Mater balloons (C led the decoration and cake committee) . Forecast calls for an overly pleasant evening.
Stay tuned for Part II of the Best. Birthday. Ever. Coming soon to a friendly internet site near you.