Seven years of wedded bliss.
And so we celebrated -- in an appropriate manner, I thought. Z-man made a reservation for us for dinner at the restaurant where he works.
I was excited about it because I had never eaten there before, even though it is very close to our house and he has worked in their kitchen for almost a year.
He offered up a description of all the specials in advance, giving us a clue to what we would find (Northern Italian cuisine), and told us what he recommended. Then he asked what we wanted for dessert.
Creme brulee was the winning choice, and he toddled off to work. We followed an hour later, arriving on time for our 7 p.m. reservation.
"Oh, you're Z-man's parents!" the owner greeted us when we arrived. "He told me you were coming in!"
We smiled and followed him to our table. "We love our Z-man," the owner told us.
As we began to look at the menu hungrily, a woman appeared at our table.
"Hi, I'm Sarah. I'll be taking care of you tonight," she said.
"Wonderful," I said, and Z-man popped into view at her side.
"Sarah is my favorite," he said.
"He is my favorite too," she answered. "I just love him. And how do you know Z-man?"
Z-man and I spoke simultaneously.
"I birthed him," I said.
"She birthed me," he said.
And we both laughed
Yes, we are sick like that. In tune with each other. Don't forget, this is the boy whose two-year culinary school absence cut me like a knife.
Z slipped back into the kitchen, leaving us with his favorite waitress.
And so we ordered. Sarah nodded approvingly and, when she brought Wonderhubby another iced tea, informed us that Z-man approved of our choices as well.
We approved of our selections as well. It was delicious, topped off by two creme brulees that were to die for -- made by my boy.
But what was most delicious of all was the number of people who came by our table or stopped us on our way out to tell us how much they absolutely adore my son and what a lovely young man he is.
My work here is done.
Crossposted at Mid-Century Modern Moms