Dirty Bakers Square/Roughing It

I am 31 years old today.

Lyla took me to Bakers Square for a pre-shower birthday breakfast while Julie slept in. Eating out alone with a toddler involves a lot of multitasking. I have a distinct advantage as a left-handed person because due to the mild, innocent, but nonetheless frequent persecution we face our whole lives (scissors, stick shifts, gas and break pedals, lawn mower pull cords, the hand smudges caused by pencils and erasable pens, lecture room desks, cameras, rental golf clubs, the way pages turn in books, the return key, the delete key, most computer mouses, not to mention the idea that anything correct is "right"), I am more ambidextrous than most of the right-handed majority. I can feed Lyla with a spoon and myself with a fork all at once.

In other birthday-related news, Julie is a very sweet person. She made me a coupon that says "Grab the tent, gas up the stove, plunk the wife in the car and get ready for a weekend camping extravaganza in beautiful Grand Marais, MN. Child not included." In the 11 years I've known her, she has never once agreed to go camping with me. I think her version of "roughing it" is a hotel without room service. "Happy camper" is a phrase that does not compute, an oxymoron. For her to arrange Lyla-sitting for a weekend in July and to offer to go camping with me in a tent on the dirt in the woods by Lake Superior is a very, very thoughtful and amazing gift.

So I immediately went online and booked us a suite in a bed and breakfast. Hey, I'm thoughtful too. We'll rough it as a family when Lyla's older. Until then, it is my birthday decree that a weekend away from Lyla will involve comfort, class, and someone making us breakfast. Doesn't change how cute it is that Julie psyched herself up to sleep in a tent.

Maybe I'll set one up for us in the front yard.