Quarter Century

Week of July 19 through 25

This weekend I turned twenty-five. In my head, I'm still 21. My age-lapse memory makes a little sense, I guess, since turning turning 21 is an event in and of itself. "I can drink now, bitches, whooo-hooo!" And then the drinking wiped out the next four years of my life, and here I am, now 25. Or something like that. I can't wrap my head around this whole quarter-century-old concept. Is 25 the point at which one is considered a full grown adult? I'm not in the 18 to 24 age bracket anymore. Since my 21st birthday, the numbers just keep going up, but I feel the same. I hope I feel like I'm 21 for the rest of my life. It was a good year.

In case you didn't notice, internet, I just cursed on our blog. The blog my grandmother reads (Hi, Tata!). I've also talked about sex. But I can do that because I'm 25 now. A full grown adult!

So my birthday lasted for four days this year. That's probably another reason I can't ever remember how old I am. There is so much celebrating that I think I'm having more than one birthday. And that somehow voids the original birthday, like how two negatives make a positive. Or something. I can't do math.

My birthday started when my lovely and talented co-worker brought delicious cupcakes to the office on Thursday. Homemade lemony-goodness with whipped frosting and fresh lemon zest. Oh em gee. And the precious cake stand was a gift for me! Anyone who knows me knows that I have a slight addition to tableware. Ok, I have an entire closet full of dishes. Plus a china cabinet. And our everyday plates. But each of these dishes and serving pieces are vitally important! I might need to throw together a dinner for 12 AT ANY MOMENT. And I will be ready. And then no one will think my hoard of mix-and-match tableware is anything but essential.


On Saturday, my entire family gathered at Perry's Steakhouse (dear God, the deliciousness) to celebrate my age by eating and drinking and eating some more. The food was amazing, and the company was perfect. The Husband called ahead and had the restaurant fancy up our table with rose petals. He also ordered a special dessert for me that came with my name written in chocolate. If you've never seen your name written in chocolate, I highly recommend it. Once you've had your name written in chocolate, signing your name with a pen seems so mundane. And if you try to eat that signature, you might have to go to the hospital for ink poisoning, or insanity. Chocolate is always better.


Sunday morning, The Husband made Belgian waffles with fruit and whipped cream and bacon. Mmm, bacon. We then proceeded to sit around in our pajamas and watch movies all. day. long. While drinking grape martinis. There were also some naps thrown in for good measure. Perfect day. That evening, The Husband made my favorite dinner. Barbeque Chicken. Not just any barbeque chicken, oh no. This chicken is my great-grandfather's recipe, passed down through my family and taught to The Husband just last year. We had to be sure he wouldn't run off with the goods, his plan to marry into the family so he could hijack the almighty Barbeque Chicken recipe now complete, so we waited until we'd known him for a good six years before sharing.

He also made asparagus topped with a poached egg. A poached egg. My husband poached an egg for me. And put it on asparagus. A little trick he learned at Grace in Fort Worth. And a big deal, because my husband doesn't particularly enjoy eggs unless they are of the scrambled variety plus, he'd never poached an egg before. So sweet and so yum.


After dinner, I opened all of my wonderful gifts and we ate cake. Mmm, cake.


Since the day I came home from the hospital, my dad and I have had a birthday tradition. Every year we take a picture together on the front porch of our house. We've missed a few years, here and there, but for the most part, we have a chronological look, year by year, of just how much hair I've caused my father to lose. In this picture he is headless, and therefore has no hair. I think you can imagine what kind of holy-terror I must have been to cause this amount of baldness.


Really, my twenty-fifth birthday was all about eating and drinking and spending time with family. Just like every other birthday. Just as it should be.

All Around Our House Next Week: A Kitchen Shower for the Bride-to-Be