We just encountered Eraser Eater's birthday. He got a gameboy and a few games and so I suppose that I won't see him or the Oldest all day today.
By a slip of the tongue I called my husband "Dear Sir" when beckoning him to the dinner table and he said, "Please, don't ever call me that." When reading the Moonstone (the GobholeBookBanters book choice this month) I have read "dear sir" a great many times and I think it is a fine thing to call someone---if you are a sir, I guess. I have been known to turn into "victorian woman" in dire situations (mainly an argument) and so anything that sounds slightly like the 1800's doesn't work well for my dear sir.
I actually burned the midnight oil with none other than Dear Sir and watched the BSU/Oklahoma game (Fiesta Bowl). I *think* I am getting the hang of football and I *think* I am liking it about fifty percent. Even though Dear Sir was pulling for OK, we were both secretly wishing that BSU would win just because, I don't know, we hate their orange pants so much. We did scope the clips of the crowd to maybe see if we could find our family out there, but no one looked crazy enough with wild hats and painted faces that I could see. `Tis a pity.
Yesterday we took Eraser Eater to IHOP for his birthday. It was his choice. He wanted to order pancakes and bacon. The place was packed. I mean really packed. I am actually shocked that Dear Sir did not have a nervous breakdown (he is a changed man, I tell you) it was so crowded. There is always this little evil lady that laughs inside me when Dear Sir is placed in situations that he can't stand. Not because I want him to suffer, but because I don't know how he will handle it. He always handles things in the most perfect manner though. I just know the guy so well it is scary. He thoroughly shocked me yesterday though because he said, "Man, this place is so crowded it is like a cafeteria. My Dad would go nuts!" That is all he had to say to sweep me off my feet.
During our pleasantly loud time at IHOP it got even louder. The whole crew of the restaurant approached the table behind us and clapped their hands red to a loud, silly song wishing some poor person a happy birthday. Eraser Eater looked at us scared out of his wits. When they all disassembled and scattered about, Eraser Eater whispered to us, "I was ABOUT to say that I wanted to go to Borders for my shhhh---birthday----but I didn't want THEM to hear that." I think he was convinced that if it slipped out that it was indeed his birthday too, he would be prevailed upon with a clamorous birthday song. We laughed with him and then continued to masticate our fare.
Masticate. I dreamt about that word the night of New Years Eve. Last night I dreamt of collecting all of my children's jackets barefoot in the snow after walking from England on my way to the other side of the pond. An old church building full of cobwebs blocked my way from my destination and a spider with a rat's face loomed above me. I think that means that my feet were cold.