Wally Cleaver Ain’t the Only Man Who Knows How to Treat a Lady*

We have a pretty nice camera. Chris also has not one, but two, pretty nice tripods. During the first winter after we met, we were walking around Circuit City when Chris spied a tiny, digital camera. It was just too James Bond not to have. So we bought it, 50, 50. And we took a bunch of pictures with it. We even took pictures of ourselves. Chris was a master of the one-armed camera pose.

But we were young. Love was involved. There was room for silliness.

Here we are, Winter 2002:

The pixillation’s a shame. That couch is downright offensive. You can see up my nose. But at least we’re in the same picture.

There’s a frame hanging on Caelyn’s wall. It’s white, hung by a sweet pink ribbon I attached to it back when we first started working on her nursery. It’s been hanging there since a few months before she was born, and it’s still empty.

It’s supposed to have a family photo in it, but somehow, in two years, despite the one-armed skills, tripods, and camera, we haven’t managed to take a decent photo of the three of us. We don’t even have one of the two of us. Not even from our anniversary, when there was another adult in our apartment who could’ve taken our picture, had we just asked. Heck, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, and Caelyn’s birthday all went by this year without a single shot of parent and child both looking at the camera.

So for my birthday yesterday I was determined that we’d take a picture for that poor, sad frame in Caelyn’s room. But, of course, when we got dressed, there wasn’t time to get out the tripod, and Caelyn threw herself on the floor crying when we tried to take one of just her and me. So I figured Chris could take one of me; I could take one of him. We could even photoshop ‘em together, if we wanted.

Here’s what we ended up with:

“In 27 years I still haven’t learned how to stand up straight.”

“I’ll stand here ’cause it’s your birthday, but that’s all the silliness I’m partaking in.”

Be careful when you talk your wife into blogging. You never know what’ll happen.

But picture or no picture, it was still a pretty great birthday.

It started with a “happy birthday” from Chris, cappuccinos, and doughnuts. Then Chris went to work; Caelyn and I worked out. She got her hopes up when I got ready to shower afterwards, so I let her take a pre-lunch bath instead. Next, she and I had a nice veggie-filled lunch (with bonus garlic bread!) and did a little ironing/picking up. The rest of the afternoon was sprinkled with cards — and a letter from Eunice, our sponsored child in Ghana, with a picture of her with the new shoes and school bag she purchased with the birthday present we sent her! — phone calls, a serenade voicemail from the one and only C.C., and lots of happy Twitter/Facebook wishes. Then Caelyn took a nap, I took a shower, Cristin dropped by with an awesome basket of Bath & Body Works goodies, and we all got dressed and headed over to my sister-in-law’s, who, since she’s the best, offered to keep Caelyn so Chris could take me out to a nice dinner.

“Nice” is the understatement of the year.

Chris made reservations at the Silver Fox steakhouse in Grapevine, and I’m telling you: I can’t stop thinking about that dinner. I can’t even come up with anything I want to eat today because whatever it is would just be so disappointing. (You know I’m a food enthusiast, right?)

We skipped the complimentary valet, because our legs work, and went straight to the front door, where we were greeted and seated by a man, who was likely one of the owners. You know, fancy steakhouses are kinda funny. They’re all a little weird and cold on the outside. Tan or gray concrete boxes with no windows just dropped in the middle of consumerism row. Then you get in and it’s dim and romantic and old worldish: upholstered walls, espresso wood molding and paneling, antique chandeliers, old-fashioned bars and wine rooms.

Or at least that’s how it is at the Silver Fox in Grapevine, a softer, more intimate version of the mega III Forks steakhouse in Far North Dallas. Actually, the Silver Fox is a sister restaurant of III Forks, and as a sister, not a child, you get a restaurant with a different feel and scale, but with the same kind of service and menu options. You also get the same USDA Prime cuts of beef from the top 2% in the country. All that quality carries a hefty price tag (smaller restaurant doesn’t mean smaller costs), maybe even too hefty, but, honestly, the food was amazing — even the water was impressive — and the service was easily the best I’ve ever experienced. Top-notch all around.

We skipped appetizers and went straight to salads, which was a wise choice, because we were both stuffed by the end, and I would’ve felt really bad about leaving food on the table. Not to mention, we had bread and pickles (yeah, pickles) to tide us over until salad time.

Chris got the Silver Fox Salad, your basic house salad with ranch. I got their signature III Forks salad. I’d describe it to you, but the menu leaves the describing to your server, and I can’t remember what all she said: thinly sliced green apples, pecans, field greens, blue cheese crumbles, and some sort of vinaigrette with molasses in it. I was skeptical, but I’ve never had any salad like it and it was awesome.

Chris went for the Bone In Prime Ribeye with hash browns. I ordered the Filet Mignon with whipped potatoes and a Shitake mushroom sauce on the side. All steaks come with hash browns or new, baked, or whipped potatoes, sugar snap peas, and fresh onions and tomatoes. Other sides come family style; we got the mac and cheese, which definitely wasn’t your kids’ mac and cheese. Steaks were delivered by one of the chefs and a team of servers brought out the other items, served portions on our plates, and left the rest for seconds. It was a lot of food and every bite was phenomenal. (Yes, “phenomenal” really is the right word.)

Even though it was my birthday, we passed on dessert. I was just too full to enjoy cheesecake, and I want to enjoy my birthday dessert. (Don’t worry. My parents are coming tomorrow and taking me out to dinner. I’ll get a restaurant dessert then.) But we couldn’t pass up coffee.

The coffee stood as the only thing average, but I’m still glad we got it, as it gave us a chance to sit back, talk, and take in the dining room, which by that point was bustling with everyone and everything from a lone neurosurgeon to a table of midlifers whose second bottle of wine had led one of them to tie his napkin around his face and hold up his friends with his finger gun.

Of course, I showed my true colors by spilling coffee all over the table. (I was almost as out of my element as that time I went to Catholic mass and dropped my keys on the floor and fell off the kneeler.) But at least I kept my clothes clean. And, well, something had to keep me grounded in reality.

Chris, being such a gentleman, let me use his clean napkin to cover up my coffee stains and we strolled out of the magic, back into the July sun.

We finished the evening with good conversation with my sister-in-law and her husband before heading home to watch late-night television with pints of ice cream in bed.

And did I mention this extravagant date wasn’t even my birthday present from Chris? He also slipped an Italian leather, velvet-lined iPhone case and a handful of gift cards into my purse. Between Chris, my parents, parents-in-law, and grandparents I am going to have one much-needed shopping spree this fall! (The stuff I bought at Mother’s Day is now too big too, so I’m a fashion disaster these days, but I promise I’ll be ready by fall.)

Talk about a birthday! But, I wonder, does Chris know this was only my 27th one, not my 30th?

*In the Leave It to Beaver episode, “Wally’s Dinner Date,” Wally took his girlfriend, Julie Foster, to a new, fancy restaurant in Mayfield called The White Fox, where soup cost a whole 80 cents and Wally’s wallet turned up MIA.