The Big Day

32 - My official age as of yesterday
25 - The number of people at our house for lunch
9 - The number of children age 3 or under
3 - The highest number of children crying at the same time (not bad, actually)
72 - The number of pecan tarts that Big Granny made and carted from Nashville to Louisville (and dare I mention the homemade vanilla icecream, 30+ homegrown tomatoes, multiple boxes of snack items for the kids, 2 new outfits for Camille, 1 new outfit for Easton......the list goes on.)
5 - The number of pecan tarts currently remaining in our kitchen


It was a wonderful service and a wonderful afternoon. Easton was decked out in his blue striped button down shirt and navy blazer. He will be proud to tell you that he was also wearing a white undershirt "just like Daddy". This meant that the poor boy was sweating to death by the middle of the service, but he hung in there and played the role of big brother with pride. Here, he is presented with a special card of his own.
















Camille provied the congregation with several coos and giggles until she noticed that Brother Mike was holding some paper and that paper was actually within her reach! During his closing prayer she began to lean over and grab at his hand to get the paper. Her coos turned into a demanding squeal, but I think I'm the only one who noticed what all the fuss was about. Here, you'll see her hand grabbing at the goods.
















Trying to feed 25 people takes a little planning. I'm not sure how Big Granny did all of those Sunday afternoon meals for so many years. You can't just come home from church and begin cooking. People are hungry. You have to have everything "just so" so that by the time everyone arrives and says hello, the food is ready. My solution was pasta. It will feed a billion people and the sauce can be prepped the night before. In honor of my birthday I made Spencer's Special Spaghetti.

Years ago when we were in college, we began "dating" early in the summer. If you've never heard our dating story, please, ask me sometime. It's quite the story. That August when my birthday rolled around I waited all day for something special. A phone call.....a card in the mail.....something. That evening the phone finally rang about 8:00 at night. He asked if I wanted to come over. BINGO! This was it!! I rushed over to his place and..........nothing. We sat down and he turned on a movie. I was crushed. Not being able to hide my emotions, he read that something was wrong. I finally admitted that it was my birthday. He didn't believe me. I whipped out my driver's license and pointed to the date. Like any good man, he aplogized a milion times and totally made it up to me. (Looking back I probably should have done a better job at dropping hints before the actual day arrived) The very next night he went all out and bought groceries, made me dinner and got me a gift. The dinner was this spaghetti. The spaghetti surfaced again a few years later on another birthday when he made me dinner after a lenghty break-up when I was teaching at Greenbrier. That second spaghetti dinner was the beginning to us both realizing that this was "it" and he was stuck with me forever. Alright, now I'm rambling. Sorry - back to yesterday.

As hoped for, the spaghetti fed everyone and there was sauce left over. When the last person had eaten dessert the kitchen was covered with a flurry of women wiping and cleaning everything in sight. When everyone went home I was left with nothing to do except put on my new birthday pajamas (not to be confused with a birthday suit Ms. Holden and Ms. Ailstock!) and drink a cup of hot tea while relaxing on the couch with my husband and sister. Oh yes - the kids didn't have a nap so ALL the babies (Easton, Camille, Madeline and Talia) were in bed promptly by 7:30.

Again, it was a wonderful day.