Birthday Dinner

Hey y'all -

It's my birthday this weekend, and I decided for my birthday dinner I'd like to go downtown to a place called The Top Hat (a restaurant/bar/concert venue) for their semi-annual Montana Craft Beer Dinner which was held last night. Your dad and I rode our bikes and parked 'em next to the other fifty bikes in front of the restaurant.

I imagine this is going to be one of those obnoxious "Missoula is the best!" posts, because seriously: Missoula is the best. The chef prepared seven courses of great local food paired with seven (tasting-sized) glasses of Montana beers.

Each course was pretty incredible, and if I ate nothing but those smoked salmon fritters for the rest of my life, I'd be happy.

The one downside (I'd thought) was that the tables were all set up family-style, so everyone ate at big tables with a bunch of strangers.  I sat across from your dad, and because the venue is such a big loud open space, I thought the night was going to be a disaster. I hate to raise my voice, I can't stand a bunch of ambient noise, and your dad can't hear. But the people seated next to us were so friendly, and when I heard them mention how hard it is to install their car seat, I was reminded what makes Missoula great: babies and beer. Thirty minutes and two beer tastings later, we were best friends.

We talked about our favorite episodes of Dora The Explorer, our favorite places to ski, our favorite local eateries, etc. We showed each other pictures of our kids on our phones. And then I looked around the packed room and realized that over half the folks in there were dads in their 30s wearing plaid shirts. We were among our people.

The only problem with the meal was that the food portions were so tiny; even though there were seven courses, each one was smaller than a ping pong ball. When your dad and I got home, we talked about how good the dinner had been, and then we stood in the kitchen and ate half a roasted chicken, some cheese toast and a Nutty Buddy ice cream cone... with a glass of wine. 

Not that I should admit this on a blog written to/for my children, but I woke up this morning and felt like I was going to die. Your dad and I moaned and held our aching heads and reminded each other that we're not 21 anymore. Hell, we're not even 31 anymore. At least in my case, older does not seem to equal wiser. 

Because your father is a prince among men, he got up and went to McDonald's this morning, and came home with a sack of McMuffins and fried hash browns and a large coffee.

In between swallowing ibuprofen, I've spent some time this morning reflecting on how blessed my life is.  I have a mother-in-law who will drop everything to watch my two amazing kids so I can ride a bike with my handsome husband through my bucolic town to a delicious dinner. As the song goes, "My old truck's still runnin' good / my ticker's tickin' like they say it should."Life is so good in this moment, I'm almost jealous of myself. 

Best birthday ever. Thanks everybody.

Love,

Mom