I have long known that I married a fantastic guy but sometimes–during baths that end with more water on the floor than in the tub; after discipline sessions that leave me more disappointed in myself than in the child being disciplined; in the middle of the fourth 3AM waking in a week–I forget just how fantastic he is. This weekend he reminded me.
Since DH has been accruing frequent flier miles, hotel points and myriad other road-warrior medallions for the past 11 months, I assumed it was likely we were flying somewhere for my birthday. I also had happened upon strategically-left-open web pages earlier in the week referencing Montreal events. Naturally, since our premarital life involved frequent pilgrimages to the Festival International de Jazz de Montreal (resulting in two children named after Jazz greats), I thought Montreal was the destination. I thought wrong.
Little did I know how relevant my When Harry Met Sally reference was last week because the fantastic destination for my totally undeserving, non-milestone-birthday celebration was New York City. But it wasn’t just New York City, it was 50 hours over three days divided into 20 surprise parts, any one of which would have made an incredible birthday all on its own.
But for those details, you have to stay tuned for the next post…