On Saturday, Henry and I went to one birthday party (backyard free-for-all) while Wade took Charlie to another one (bowling, with four and five-year-olds). We met up at 2:00 at the gymnastics place for Leslie’s son’s party, except of course Henry and I were late because I can never remember where exactly this gymnastics place is and so I drove right past it the first time. It’s possible that Henry learned a couple new swear words. He also insisted that I turn Amy Winehouse’s Rehab up louder “so I can hear the words.” I love that kid.

Neither Wade nor I had showered, which was a bummer because everyone else at the party looked so clean and fresh and we looked like we had been dragged behind a truck. Or like we had been to another birthday party RIGHT BEFORE this one. Whatever.

The kids were off doing whatever it is that kids do at gymnastics parties (there was an adult in charge, don’t worry–I’m not THAT irresponsible) and Wade and I were sitting on some mats flirting with the cutest baby ever. She had huge blue eyes and was clearly in love with Wade, or with my bottle of water, it was hard to tell. Anyway, Wade was on a first-name basis with this baby, who I had never seen before, and was threatening to take her home with us when her mother said, “I read your blog!”

And Wade groaned.

The cute baby’s mom (hi, Leigh!) said, “Do you get that all the time? Do people come up to you in the mall and say, ‘I read your wife’s blog’?” And I laughed because no, that doesn’t happen to Wade, although it would be really funny if it did. Maybe.

If you see this man at the mall, say hello! He loves that.

That night, as I was changing my clothes for the two hundredth time (because CAJUN LUAU! What do you wear to a CAJUN LUAU? Answer: tank top and long linen skirt, of course) Wade came in and said, “I think you need to write more about me on your blog.”

“Oh, really?” I said.

“Yes. About what a stud I am. You know.” And then he went through this whole routine about how he could use the BLOG to pick up WOMEN, see. But by then I was laughing too hard to remember it all exactly.

And that was before we started drinking.

The cajun luau was fun, although I still don’t know why it was a cajun luau; they served shrimp (delicious) and crawfish (scary and kind of icky) and fresh pineapple (that was the luau part, apparently) and lots of booze. And we survived the birthday parties, although Henry totally fell apart yesterday afternoon and had a gigantic tantrum.

Moral: three parties in two days is too much for one kid. Or at least for THAT kid. Also, I don’t like crawfish.

Last night after the Meltdown that Wouldn’t Stop (seriously, 45 minutes of crying and yelling) Wade and I got into a small argument about dinner, which was stupid because all we were having was hamburgers and potatoes and baked beans. But I think the screaming and crying threw him and I was feeling hugely guilty for not KNOWING that Henry shouldn’t go to all those parties, and so we snapped at each other about the damn potatoes because we’re mature like that. I believe that specifically what happened was that he questioned how I was making the potatoes and expressed a desire to have them cooked in another way and I told him to bite me and to stop criticizing my cooking. I may also have mentioned an incident a while back about a roasted chicken, it’s hard to tell.

Anyway, when Wade brought the hamburgers in from the grill, we apologized and hugged and it was all good. And then he said, “Face it, I am the EASIEST person in the WORLD to cook for.” And just as I was about to say, “Have you lost your ever-loving MIND?” he started to laugh. Because NO YOU’RE NOT! But he is really nice about my crappy cooking, so there’s that.

So we sit down to eat and I take one bite of the baked beans and say, “Something is NOT RIGHT with these beans.” And Wade says, “I didn’t think they tasted right, but I was afraid to say anything.”

“Nah,” I told him, “these are from a can. You can always insult the can.”