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Happy 3-3-13

Today, 3-3-13, is the day I turn 30. There are a lot of 3s going on here, and I’m sure there is some numerical significance to that, but I’m not going to spend the time analyzing it because… Hello! Time is running out! I’m 30!

Over the years, my husband and I discovered I’m a bit of a birthday diva. “What’s this? A bag of assorted-colored M&M’s? I asked you to pick through the M&M’s and present me with only the blue ones!”

I’m not quite that bad, but… after some painfully drab birthdays (only about two), we came to the realization that I don’t really care about the presents, but I need attention on that one day of the year. Lots of attention. My poor husband. After some painfully awkward fights (only about two), he has tried so very hard to create the perfect day for me each year.

I’m really hoping he’ll relax. The 30-year-old rite of passage requires me to be incredibly mature, so I’m letting the diva go. Truthfully, I really let her go years ago after I realized (after only about two times) how yucky she was.

This year, my husband outdid himself in planning the perfect day for me. He really couldn’t have done better.

We celebrated yesterday because today is filled with church and church-related things. Yesterday, I was informed to be ready at 9:00 am. I asked what I should wear and was told to dress normally. (I breathed a sigh of relief that we wouldn’t be doing some ridiculous thing like skiing.) I asked if I needed to get the kids ready, and was told I wouldn’t need to. Birthday present #1.

I suspected we were going to spend the day in Park City, Utah, visiting art galleries, so I was waiting for a babysitter to show up. But then, when the kids piled into the car with Ryan and me, I began to wonder how long our Park City excursion could possibly last with those adorable rugrats in tow. Moments later, we were outside my friend’s house, and Ryan was telling Lydia she was going to go to the zoo with her friend. Both girls clambered out of the car and into the house, and then we were off!

Ryan asked me where I thought we were going, and I told him that I really didn’t care at that point. We were kid-free for a morning, and the birthday fun could end right there and I’d be happy.

We ended up going not to Park City, but all over Salt Lake City to visit consignment shops, one of my favorite things to do. He had even spent the time to look up new consignment shops we had never been to before. I love my kids, but the luxury of being able to spend as much time as I wanted in each store, not pushing a stroller, holding my husband’s hand, and not being interrupted was the best birthday treat I could get.

We ate lunch at Vinto, an incredibly delicious pizza restaurant in Salt Lake City. Local friends, check it out. But ask them to hold the arugula if you order the bruschetta. This is what I felt like when they brought out our appetizer.

Once I dug through the 6 inches of leaves, I was pleasantly treated to the second-best bruschetta I’ve ever had. Check them out.

The birthday celebration would have been sufficient at that point, but Ryan had another surprise up his sleeve. After dinner downtown at a place I won’t recommend because they put corn in their cornbread and in my taco (Corn is the worst!), we went to Abravanel Hall for a performance.

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He didn’t tell me what we were going to see, so I didn’t know until we were picking up the tickets. They had a surprising lack of signage about that night’s performance, but I saw it briefly as we walked into the hall:

“Do You Hear the People Sing: Music from Les Mis to Miss Saigon”

Glory of glories! I love the symphony; I love Les Mis. He couldn’t have done better. The performances were stunning. The Utah Symphony and a choir accompanied five Broadway singers singing Les Mis and Miss Saigon songs. The writer of the lyrics to the Les Mis songs, Alain Boublil, was even there. Can you imagine? It was fabulous, fabulous, fabulous.

Tonight we will eat this cake that turned out to look like a bowl. I purchased the candles, and did not buy 30. We don’t want the house to burn down.

Photo: By far the ugliest birthday cake I have ever made. Happy birthday anyway, hon!

Happy birthday to me. I love my husband.

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