Celebrations

We were out of town this weekend, up visiting my in-laws, throwing a Birthday Party for DH.

He's ancient now; out of his youthful thirties and plunging headlong into his forties. His sister, her husband and I are all turning/have turned 37 this year, so we joke that he is now officially the old man of the group. I'm the youngest by about 5 months, so I get to harass them about their advanced ages slightly longer than everyone else.

That cake in the picture was a Blackout Cake from The Cheesecake Factory and could have fed 50 people. Chocolate cake, chocolate icing, chocolate chips, and covered in crushed almonds, it helped ease the pain of DH's inevitable decline.

This past week was also our 13th wedding anniversary. I told DH that we don't need to be superstitious about the number 13 because we had technically just finished our thirteenth year and were starting our 14th year together.

Feels like the 41st....but totally in a good way! ;-)

Birthday Bowling

We celebrated The Rationalist's 9th birthday with Cosmic Bowling, cake, and a lot of fun. 

It was a strange sensation for me. Last year's party was at the same place....it was also the last time I saw my father alive.  He came out for The Rationalist's birthday which was also the weekend before my mastectomy.  Although I spoke to him over the summer, between my active treatment and his schedule, we never got together again.

When I was growing up, my father, who by trade was normally an auto mechanic, went through several years as a bowling alley manager.  My brother and I spent many weekend visitations with him hanging out in the bowling alley, learning how to get strikes and spares while my dad finished his shift.  Sometimes we played pool or video games in the arcade area.

I must say that the enjoyment of my childhood memories is in direct proportion to the amount of parental neglect shown towards us.  Two kids having the run of a bowling alley because their dad didn't arrange, or couldn't arrange, to have his visitation weekends off was exciting to us.

I owe my bowling skills to my dad.

I had to learn to bowl for real, unable to rely on the gutter bumpers these young whipper-snappers have to keep all of their shots from being gutter balls. I remember frequently crying out of frustration when I only scored 20 points at the end of a game. I wasn't exactly a good loser.

The Rationalist and all of his friends enjoyed themselves. Each one of them managed to get a strike every now and again, leading to a competitive game.  No one was crushed score-wise.