The birthday week

As many of you know, in my family we celebrate the birthday week. We do a whole month when we can get away with it, but most people won't let us (which is just plain ridiculous, in our opinion). Boyfriend has never quite bought into this supposed scam where we celebrate a whole week for my birthday (and my mother's, and my sister's, and if he's lucky, my dad's). I've always encouraged him to make a big deal out of his birthday, but he hasn't ever quite caught on to how awesome it is until this year.

Apparently it's the big 2-6 that's done it to him, or something. Because last year at the Giants' stadium, he couldn't quite grasp it (it was several days after his actual birthday). This year, he started to see the value in it on Tuesday night (last week).

"I'm too tired to bake cookies tonight, I'll just do it tomorrow," I told him, after he valiantly braved the (warm, beautiful) night to go fetch more chocolate chips from the store so I could bake said cookies — which I had promised him for his away-camp job to sustain him.

"But it's my birthday...week..." he ventured cautiously. Then, he apparently liked the sound of that. "It's my birthday week, bake them tonight. I'll help you."

I eyed him suspiciously, wary of the monster I may have unleashed, but baked the cookies while he "helped"...by eating batter.

Wednesday — being my only lonely day off last week, having had to sacrifice my other day off to training for the job (and so selflessly collecting overtime) — I woke reluctantly but determined to get my shit done. I had seven miles I needed to knock out before it got too hot to be bearable (it reached 88 in our backyard yesterday...at 6 p.m. when I thought to look at the thermometer), I needed to bake a cake for birthday boy's birthday barbecue and I needed to get some stuff at the store in order to make lunches for the week at work.

I managed to have a mere half hour of peace with my coffee and my breakfast until boyfriend came pelting down the stairs.

"What are we doing today?" he asked hopefully.

I sighed, tired from my six day week and rattled off the things I wanted to get done. His face fell.

"But it's my birthday week..." he said.

Little did I know, Wednesday would turn out to be one of the best days I've ever had.

My seven mile run went well, and I compromised with boyfriend who was super cute and wanted to come with on his bike the whole way, but I met him for the last two miles instead so we could be together — him on his bike, of course. I couldn't have handled him trailing me the whole way — seven miles you need time to do your own thing and the only time it works is if you're both moving the same way (i.e. running) — but I enjoyed him getting me through the last two miles.

I finished my run strangely exhilarated. Apparently, when you haven't been on your feet for nine hours it's not such a hardship to do a few miles. I baked part one of his cake.

At this point, I have to digress from the wonderful day in order to explain something. I don't make cake from boxes. Therefore, the word funfetti is pretty much the bane of my existence. What the attraction of the relatively tasteless boxed cake flecked with unnatural colors is is beyond my ken, but apparently, it's a big deal to some people.

I suppose I shouldn't judge — me, the lover of Necco conversation hearts and candy corn.

But when I ask my loved ones, "What kind of cake do you want for your birthday?" when they know my skills as a baker (bake-ess?), I can't help but get a little offended by the word "funfetti" when it leaves their lips.

When in Portland with Siobhan, I said, "Guess what kind of cake boyfriend wants for his birthday?"

Jokingly, she guessed, "Funfetti?" and then launched into the memory of the time when one of our other friends had said that to me and the look on my face apparently could have killed and I uttered the words:

"I. Do. Not. Make. Cake. From. A. Box."

Which was sufficient to cow that friend into meekly requesting an alternate.

After finishing the story, Siobhan looks at me and said, "I was joking when I guessed funfetti, but from the look on your face I'm betting he asked for funfetti."

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Tyler Buwalda — knowing my aversion to funfetti — requested funfetti. To the point where a friend of ours kept saying she would make him funfetti if I wouldn't. Unfortunately — or fortunately, I suppose, depending upon who you ask in this situation — I happen to love that man a whole hell of a lot.

Yes, my friends. I. Made. Funfetti.

Not from a box. Did you know you could even do that? I had an inkling, but not a full one. You make a white cake and dump a bottle of those long waxy-looking sprinkles into the batter. Voila, funfetti from scratch.

The cake was moist and thick, more of a pound cake than a true white cake, and if I could do it again, I would try a different white cake recipe, but as I don't make white cake very often (probably because like funfetti, it's something I'll only do by request because I don't particularly care for it) I'd never used the recipe before. So anyway, not going to use it again. Maybe just as a one layer white cake with a glaze, but not as a fancy cake.

I did do fancy frosting, standard vanilla buttercream with a twist of lemon zest. And of course an organic strawberry from Whole Foods and fresh mint leaves from the garden. I don't do box cakes, and I don't half ass cakes.

So anyways, to continue our amazing day we rode our bikes over to the grocery store and the liquor store to stock up for the barbecue in the evening. Did you know that in Oregon, you cannot get hard liquor at the grocery store? I never realized how convenient having it all in one place was because I always assumed that it was normal to have the tequila near the beer and the beer near the bread. Anyways.

We enjoyed the sunshine and the short bike ride and then took a drive over to Tumalo Falls.

Beautiful.

That's a pretty cute birthday boy if I do say so myself.

We topped the day off with a nap and then a fun barbecue with friends for his birthday. It doesn't get much better than that.

I was going to tell you all about my running lately, but I just did a little 8 miler this morning and it pretty much wiped me out. So that'll have to wait til at least tomorrow. As does what I wanted to tell you about my garden. I wanted to get this much written and posted today so I didn't hear about it from my peanut gallery!

Love you all,
kc

TODAY: 8 miles
MONDAY: 4 miles and 11 mile bike ride (split)
SUNDAY: 9 mile bike ride (split)
FRIDAY: 3 miles with hill repeats and 9 mile bike ride (split)
LAST WEDNESDAY: 7 miles