I don't know about you, but I'm feeling Twenty-Four

It's loud here at night. Not loud like it is at our new house on the corner of Train Tracks and Busy Avenue. The loud is quieter: bugs, cows, the occasional car, maybe a coyote or two, and the train way off in the distance.

I'm home. Maybe not "this is my address, where my clothes hang in the closet and I have full decorating say," but "memory" home, where they loaned me a room for a couple decades and trained me to be a grown-up. 

What better place is there to celebrate my birthday?

MisterKidd coordinated with my mom for a birthday weekend. We loaded up our kiddos and headed to the country for two full days of "Whatever you want, Brianna." It was magical. 

On Friday, I spent most of the day in my pajamas, catching up on episodes of "The Pioneer Woman Cooks" that my mom had DVR'd for me. We also got to meet Daniel Tiger's new baby sister, Margaret. (No, I'm not kidding. MisterKidd and I were more excited than Big Girl to catch this episode.)

The evening was spent at one of our favorite places. We eat at this restaurant for almost every major holiday. Endless shrimp, Sangria, cheddar biscuits, good conversation, and my best friend. 

We love this place. We love the food, the live lobsters, the expensive bill. We usually love the Seafood Specialists, but this time, we were disappointed.

MisterKidd and I both have a past waiting tables (it's actually a part of his "present"). When we're at restaurants, we are simultaneously more gracious because we know how hard it is and less forgiving because we know what it takes to give great service. Our poor server was just not good. It started with her taking our order with another table's dirty dishes on the tray beside her and ended with her coming by our table three times after our dishes were already cleared, promising she'd "be right back with the check." We felt so sorry for her. 

Our delay caused us to be an hour late for the mall. We spent about an hour shopping before the stores started to close, which reminded us of our slow, sad service. But I got some sweet threads at the only store in the mall that didn't close at 9pm, Mom's Mecca. 

The next day, on my actual birthday, my mom, my big sister, and I went to lunch. Alone. Without kids. We love our kids, but it was a blast to just talk about grown-up stuff (so grown-up of me to notice). We got some fall scented goodness at Bath and Body Works and Strawberry Shortcakes from a local fav on the way home. 

Birthday weekend: Success.

Now that I'm a mama, I have a new view of birthdays. The only thing I want to do on my birthday these days is hang out with the lady that made it happen (and maybe the dude that helped). That day means something totally different to her than it does for everyone else. It's the anniversary of the day that she did a great and totally selfless work for me, the first of many.

Happy 24th Birthday, Mom.