We don't have many traditions in our little family but breakfast in bed on your birthday is one of them.  Of course, it would help if we actually had any food in our house in which to make said breakfast but it was my birthday so I totally used that excuse and didn't feel nearly as guilty as I do the other times when we don't have any food in our house to make breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner. Or. Or. Or.

As I previously stated, this year I really didn't want anything for my birthday.  I told my husband that he didn't have to make me breakfast in bed.  I'd be fine with cereal and laying on the couch (if he went to get milk, that is).  He wouldn't hear of it.  Probably because if he had to go to the store for milk, he might as well get other stuff too. 

So, the next morning my loving, wonderful, I-can't-believe-he-puts-up-with-me husband trekked to the grocery store (about a mile from our house - BOTH WAYS) and I stayed in bed (maybe, perhaps, so that I could watch episodes of Lost on Netflix to prep for the big season premiere) because that is the rule.  To stay in bed.  Not watch Lost.  Also, I might have stayed in bed mostly so I could watch Lost.  Not because of any rules.

I could hear the clanging and banging as my breakfast was being prepared.  The smells wafting up the stairs were nothing short of amazing.  I could hardly wait for them to arrive with my tray.

They arrived.

With the tray.  And flowers.  And cards.

Here are the flowers.

And here is my lovely birthday breakfast tray.

My husband made the pancakes with Beatrice's help.  She made my toast all on her own.

I like my toast extra crispy but this was burned beyond all recognition.  You actually may not have been able to tell that it once been bread.

I know I said I didn't want anything for my birthday.  But I think I needed that burnt toast.  Seeing the proud look on Beatrice's face as she told me she made it "just for me" melted my cold heart.  It renewed my spirit.  It made me whole (even if it gave me a little heartburn).

Of all the wonderful gifts I received that day (the yummy dinner with the entire fam damily, the "wine", the clothes, the Michael Jackson This Is It DVD, and the cold, hard cash from my parents so that I could "buy some new shoes") the burnt toast reigned supreme.

Thank you, dearest husband, for not listening to me.  This is really the only time that not listening to me is okay.  For the record.

Now I'm off to zappos.com so that I can "buy some new shoes."