On the best laid birthday plans

Ah, the best laid plans….

You see, I am actually NOT a fan of breakfast in bed. Ok, I’m not a fan of breakfast in my OWN bed. Crumbs, spills, a comforter too big to fit into my washing machine. You know who has to clean that shit up? (Never mind the kitchen.) Yes, me.

Now, I’m perfectly fine having breakfast in bed at a hotel. Because, well, they have housekeeping. For whom I can leave a tip.

So when Miss M let it slip that SHE wanted to make breakfast in bed for me for my birthday, my heart sank.

I mean, who can resist this face?



Ok. Um. Yeah. Hard to take that face seriously. Goofball. And hard to resist.


SUCH a sweet idea.

SUCH a recipe for disaster.

The Hubs is traveling for the next few days so she would be doing this on her own. Thankfully, he DID convince her that cereal would be a terrible idea. (Thank you, honey. No, really.)

Last night she asked me repeatedly what time I woke up. When I told her the dog would wake me at 6:30 if I was lucky, she was crestfallen. Frustrated, she let her plan slip, then burst into tears. It was supposed to be a surprise.

Finally, when I realized I couldn’t possibly dissuade her because she was so excited about the plan – “I want to do something for YOU for a change” – I told her I’d let the dog out, feed her, and go back to bed.

I was surprised when at 6:30-ish, I hear a thumping down the stairs. The dog ran out of the room (she was waiting patiently for me to get up) and I heard the sound of dog food pouring into her dish, then the side door opening, ostensibly to let her out. More footsteps, grumbling, and louder footsteps pounding UP the steps. (Someone wasn’t happy that his sister set her alarm for 6:30, then woke HIM up because she couldn’t reach the trays.)

There was happy chattering from the kitchen…

and then…

The tinkle of glass and a “Nooooooooo”.

I was out of bed like a rocket.

There she stood, in the front room, distress written on her face as she held the tray with toasted bagel and yogurt cup aloft.

Just a toasted bagel. And a (thankfully) unopened yogurt cup.

Because on the sofa lay the upended juice glass, spoon, an empty vase, and a pink slice of geode from the science museum. (Yeah, I know. It’s precious to her. She’s a funny girl.)


Did I mention she just stood, howling, as apple juice rolled down the back of the cushion?

I told her accidents happen and ran for a towel. Took off the cushion. Found the underpaid soaked. Pulled off the underpad. (It’s a fancy pants old sofa.) To find apple juice sinking into the spring covers. le sigh

She helped me mop up the juice, sobbing all the while.

I pulled her onto my lap for a cuddle and we talked about the expression “it’s the thought that counts”. Then I thanked her for her hard work, wiped her tears, and we went into the kitchen. After she ate the bagel, because it was now cold, and she said she couldn’t give it to me, we made cinnamon rolls.


(Ok, they came from a can, but it was the act of doing something WITH her and not FOR her that I wanted for her.)

And as we giggled over hot, gooey cinnamon rolls, I confessed to her that we needed to get that sofa recovered soon anyway.(It’s long, long overdue, and then the dog jumped on it and ripped the fabric in a worn spot – which I’m sure caused Grandmommy to spin circles in her grave, as dogs are NOT allowed on her couch.) We weren’t going to cry over spilled milk. And can I say, boy, am I glad she didn’t actually spill milk? Eww.

Now mommy REALLY needs to get that sofa covered.

So honey? When I said I didn’t know what I wanted for my birthday?

I think I have an idea now.


  1. Poor Maddie! At least it was only apple juice…and not puple grape juice. Because at my house it would have been purple grape juice.

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