Yesterday, while Chuck took Jeremy to his last day of tutoring, I decided to make a quick run to the grocery store with Jack. It wasn’t my original intention for the afternoon, but hey – sometimes you just get a wild hair and make a unplanned grocery run.

Jack and I got in the car – which Chuck usually drives – and went to Kroger. We succeeded in shaving more than $40 off our grocery bill with coupons and smart shopping and proceeded to the parking lot to load the car.

For a second, I contemplated putting everything in the back seat with Jackson. Instead, I chose to put them in the trunk. I popped the button in the glove compartment and lifted the latch.

Oh crap. There sat what I presumed to be my birthday gift.

For another second, I contemplated closing the trunk and pretending it never happened. Instead, I piled in the groceries and tormented myself all the way home.

The afternoon went on as usual and I started making dinner when Chuck and Jeremy got home. I fidgeted and fumbled and finally decided to spill it.

“I went to the grocery store,” I said to Chuck.

“Okay,” he said. Nothing registered.

“I put the groceries in the trunk,” I hinted.

He paused, then said, “Oh…” Disappointment came over his face.

“I’m so sorry! I feel so bad! I thought I wouldn’t tell you but then you’d notice I parked the car differently and put gas in the tank and then you would know that I went somewhere and…”

“It’s okay. I guess you can just have it now,” he said, turning to head down to the garage.

A minute later he came upstairs hollering, “Boys, tell your mother ‘Happy Birthday!’” and they chimed in on cue.

I’ve been eyeballing these pots for a while and have long since needed to replace my non-stick cookware. No more scraping black bits into the scrambled eggs.

Many thanks to my sweet man, whose attempts to surprise me still make me swoon.