So if it’s true that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, I hope I added a few love notches in his expanded belt today (that was a weird thing I just wrote).

The day started off with homemade cinnamon orange biscuits, which in all honesty, were just so-so. The whole batch was scarfed, though, so they couldn’t have been that bad.

We had a simple lunch of leftovers — pizza with goat cheese and olives, and stuffed peppers with rice and minced meat. Then I broke out his birthday cake, which happens to be his absolute favorite: New York-style cheesecake. He’s weird, and prefers cheesecake completely plain — no chocolate, no strawberries, nothing. I obliged him.

I managed to make a decent cheesecake with sort-of cream cheese, sort-of sour cream, and sort-of graham crackers. Everything is improvised, of course, though I do have high-quality vanilla from the States. There’s no vanilla here; the closest thing are these little packets of “vanilla sugar” — basically powdered sugar scented with vanilla flavoring.

His cake was topped off with the most pathetic candles ever. The letters started heading south about 10 seconds after I lit them. Oh well. He knows what it says.

Tonight we’re going to a little touristy town about an hour away where they have — duh duh DUH… Mexican food. It’s actually the best Mexican food we’ve had this side of the Atlantic (unless you count Miguel’s in Thailand on this side… but I’m thinking it’s over there in the Pacific). Then again, it’s hard to surpass Cheez Whiz salsa on stale crackers in Dublin, Ireland.

Tomorrow we’re going to the beach, so overall, it’s a sweet birthday weekend. Happy birthday, Kabob! I hope you liked your day.

I spent the afternoon at a friend’s house, where a group from America had come over just to give a few of us ladies a spa day.  It was soooooo great.  We were treated to a hair stylist, a manicurist and pedicurist, and a massage therapist.  It was such a treat!  I left with a new hairstyle (never had this one before), a relaxed back, and painted toes and fingers.  Sigh…

So I got home, and Chickpea excitedly welcomed me back.

• CHICK: Hi Mom!  Where were you?
• DAD: I told you where Mommy was, remember?
• CHICK: I don’t remember.
• DAD: It was a place called…  par….a….
• CHICK: Paradise!  (I laugh)
• DAD: I told her earlier today that you were at Paradise.  And she said:
• CHICK: Where’s that?
• DAD: Oh, it’s like heaven.  The best place in the world.
• CHICK: (gasping) Is there a playground there?
• DAD: Well, maybe in your paradise.
• CHICK: Mommy’s in paradise at the Kipa playground?  (Kipa’s our grocery store.)

To each her own.

And a note: If anyone knows how to do hair, massages, nails, facials, or any other pampering treatment, you will ALWAYS be welcomed here, and very busy.

A reminder definition of TCK:  “A child who has spent a significant period of time in one or more culture(s) other than his or her own, thus integrating elements of those cultures and their own birth culture, into a third culture.”

In other words, our kids are TCKs.

Anyway, my friend Vicki helps with the TCK youth group in town– it’s a mixed group of teenagers living here as expats.  They ended their worship time with the song “Blessed Be Your Name,” and then went in to a time of prayer.

A 16-year-old boy prayed this:

“Lord, blessed be Your name, when the world’s all as it should be, and the sun is shining down on us.  And Lord, blessed be your name, when our road is marked with suffering, like when we have to go to America with our parents for the summer.”