This weekend started out as such a normal weekend. We got up, had coffee and breakfast, read the paper, then made our to-do list for the day. The grass got cut, weeds were sprayed, lunch was made. Saturday was completely windy, but I had been itching for a nice ride (and the weather was still beautiful), so T mapped out a route and we headed out. My poor little bike had to fight both a headwind and a long uphill and by the time we made it down the hill I was seriously wondering if I could survive an hour of being blown around. We ended up changing the route, winding around the 67 and then stopping in Ramona for a coffee break. A very long coffee break. During which we got to observe the locals. During which we decided that the locals can be very interesting. On the ride home, we managed to avoid sandy areas but not the sun in our eyes and I figured we were just going slow so I didn’t skid off the road and die. By the time we got home, I was tired from having to fight the wind and squint at the sun, and I was looking forward to getting cleaned up and going out to dinner. That’s what was on our to-do list: motorcycle ride, dinner, a movie. Except, when I opened the door to go inside, I got:
I’m sure there are pictures floating around of me looking completely dumbfounded and confused. My first thought was seriously trying to figure out why people were throwing a surprise party in our house. And then it dawned on me that T had organized a surprise birthday party (a week early) and I had been completely clueless the entire time. Yeah, apparently I don’t pay attention to what he does at all.
Our friends were there and my parents had driven down to set up food and snacks (and I guess clear off the counters which were a mess when we left for our ride). There had been instructions to park around the corner and leave the dogs locked up so they weren’t suspiciously scratching at the door when we came home. It was very well orchestrated and certainly unexpected.
My mom put out a huge spread of cheese and shrimp and sausage bites. Then she cooked salmon and grilled chicken and beef for dinner. We played games and ate cake and generally had a very lovely night. I’m a lucky girl. I’m also amazed that everyone was able to keep it a secret for so long. If I had tried to plan a surprise party for T, he would have suspected something at the very beginning. I am lousy at keeping things from him. But him? He never gave any indication that Saturday was any different from any other Saturday. He even made me do chores in the morning! We scheduled in exercise time before lunch! He asked me what I thought I wanted to for dinner before we left Ramona! My poor tummy thought we were going to get 7 Course Beef! Of course, it ended up full of multi-course yummy snacks, but that’s not the point.
My mom also had a hand in the planning. Apparently, it was her idea to begin with. My last surprise party was orchestrated by her, too. I was probably turning 12, and she told me to stay in the party room to entertain my guests. Little did I know that freed her up to answer the door and escort each person to my room where they left a mylar balloon hanging in the air. I forget how I ended up in my room with everyone, but that was certainly a surprise, too – opening the door to a room filled with Happy Birthday balloons! My mom’s pretty cool.
I figure, that party officially kicks off my birthday week. I’ll probably milk it for all it’s worth, seeing as how it’s my last week in my twenties, and mostly just because I can. Then we can cap it all off with some Disney fun.