Valentine's Day is extra special in our house because it is also A.'s half birthday. I know that doesn't matter in most houses but for ours, it means a half cake and a rendition of "happy birth". Since it is Tuesday, it also means swimming lessons for A.(more on that another day) so we had our annual trip to Fudruckers last night. Why Fudruckers you ask, because when we started dating at age 14, it was the only place we were allowed to go on a date. Then, year after year, I had dance competitions that happened to be right next to a Fudruckers. After the 4th year, it kind of became a tradition. Now, we have celebrated 18 Valentine's Day's at Fudruckers and we've grown to adding our 2 kiddos and our family best friends. It's fantastic and I wouldn't have it any other way.
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| Tasty milkshakes |
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| fun rides |
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| And full tummies. Who could ask for more? |
Anyway, since we had our celebration last night, B. stayed home from the hell that is swimming lessons (again, more on a different date) to cook us a delicious dinner. Since we were late coming home, the half birthday cake wasn't decorated yet. We should have known it was a bad decision to push the celebration but we had been talking about it all day. So, B. got the cake plate that was my Christmas gift 2 years ago (I know I am a nerd but I did ask for it for 3 years). Apparently, the frosting from the previous cake wasn't totally gone because the plate and it's lid were momentarily stuck together. I accentuate the momentarily because as I was yelling at B. something to the fact of ," it's going to break, put it down.", the plate fell apart onto the counter top and shattered along with a piece of my husband's arm. I immediately walked away because I was super angry at his stupidity when I heard nice and calmly, "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah." I turned around and this is what I saw.
That's right, it is blood all over the counter. Apparently, I simply said, "Oh, that's why you were calling me." I ran upstairs to grab supplies and I heard A. saying, " Do you know the time that I stepped on glass and hurt my foot." My husband that was holding his arm above his heart while blood was still dripping just said, "tell me about it." I still believe that he should have gone to the hospital for some stitches but he says, "chics dig scars." (I guess I'm the chic that matters there, I don't know). Anyway, he decided a Dora bandaid would cinch it together and a sterile 2x2 and wrap would suffice. Though sometimes I crave the romance that is the before kids, I am a lucky woman to be married to such a wonderful daddy!
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