Pushin' 40 and still pretty hot.

Sam and I graduated high school the same year.

He is way older than I am.
He just had his 39th birthday yesterday.
I won't have mine for seven whole months!
I will always be a younger, trophy wife. Yes?

We are such party animals over here.
We spent his birthday watching the kids bowl at their junior league.
Sam caught up on reports for work.
Family came over, we sang "Happy Birthday" and gave him a meager collection of gifts.
Then after the kids went to bed, we rented a movie from Redbox.
I gave it a thumbs side-ways.
Not up, or down.
Just meh.
Pretty rockin' huh?

I did manage to make him his favorite dinner, and dessert.
(And yes, it was an actual food dessert, not a "birthday dessert wink, wink.")
We have gotten too old for that sort of nonsense.

All you need for Sam's birthday meal is a vat of cream cheese.
I am documenting his favorite recipes, in case I die, and wife #2 needs some pointers. Or, in case I get Alzheimer's.
You can click on them to see them better.
They are both really fantastic. With that amount of cream cheese, can you expect anything less?
Behold, Chicken Pillows:

And Birthday Pie:

In case you are wondering about the recipes being a photo, I dabble in digital a bit, and one weekend, I went through all my favorite recipes and turned them into 4x6 prints. I printed them at Costco, then I slid all the prints into a photo album. Now I don't have to thumb through 237 recipe books to find what I need.
Suck on that, Martha!

Anyway, back to the cream cheese.
I used SIX eight ounce bricks of it yesterday.
Sam kept asking me if it was fattening.
Not if it is your birthday.

So a little about the almost 40 year old hottie:
He picked up Hockey again.

I like Hockey.
Except for the smell.
Anyone been around Hockey?
You know what I mean...

He plays well.
That is the only thing I did better than him when we dated. I could ice skate the crap out of him. He was like Bambi learning to walk.
My triumph was short-lived.
Now? He rocks.
Of course.
Like all sport related stuff, he is a natural.

He coaches our kids when his work schedule allows:

People think he "is a God" (<--his words, not mine)on Jeep trails.
I guess he is good at driving jeeps.
I don't really know.
I hate that stuff, and opt to stay home.
I don't find joy in riding close to the edge and *almost* rolling down a cliff, but pulling it out just in time cause you have skeelz.
It's one of those married people "you have your hobby, I have mine" kinda things.

With all those testosterone driven hobbies, he also manages to stay in touch with his feminine side.
He faithfully watches "America's Next Top Model."
Faithfully.
As you can clearly see, it is paying off, as he has learned how to "Smeyes."
(Smile with your eyes. For the non-ANTM watchers.)

What I love best about Sam are the little things:

How some mornings he turns off my alarm, takes care of getting the kids off to school, and lets me sleep in extra.
When he brings me Chick-fil-a, for no reason.
How he rubs out my knotted, tight shoulder muscles without me asking.
When he senses one of the kids needs extra attention, and he acts on it.
He fixes broken things, and somehow has the skills to know how to do it.
"I am going downstairs, do you need anything?"
"I have to grab some stuff at Wal-Mart on the way home, anything on your list?"
How he covers me with an extra blanket, if he can see that I am sleeping curled up into myself in the fetal position.
He appreciates and acknowledges when I do stuff around the house.
He tells me he is still attracted to me.
Whether that is a lie, or he needs a new contact prescription, I don't really care.
Contrary to the state of our women's-lib world, Chivalry is not dead.
He still opens doors for me.

Yep, I kinda like this old geezer.
Happy 39th babe!