Turkey lasagna

My youngest's birthday was yesterday. Let's go back in time four years. You called me up and told me that my pan of lasagna was ready to pick up. Be sure not to park down by the garage, you said, but next to your lawn, up by the front door. He gets mad if you park anywhere else. The Boy and Punkin and I found our way to your house okay, down at the end of a culdesac, deep in the dark edge of the woods. You greeted me at the door with a hard and warm hug, which was strange considering our working relationship, but wonderful at the same time. Good hostess that you were, you made the kids comfortable, strived to find a movie or something for Punkinto do. Very nice touch, very nice house. Small talk kicked in in the kitchen and it rambled for a while, both of us wondering when the rest of your family would get home.

That small talk pretty much ended when The Detective came home. You insisted that I stick around, as you wanted me to meet your man. We met. What a hard guy. Very abrupt, very harsh, pointedly blunt to the point of being darn near unfriendly. We all sat talked about playing in the snow in the Olympics, which he and the girls had just come back from. It didn't take long for me to want to go. The fun had left the house when he walked in. Just a bit too jealous and a bit too hostile for my taste.

But the the pan of turkey lasagna was just right. It's quite the "gal" thing for you to do, to make a dish for me to take back home to help out my gal, mother of my newborn. As if men can't cook. I know that some can't. Your's certainly couldn't! Maybe that's why he was so hard on me. We were swapping recipes when he came in. Being a librarian, combined with liking to cook. Wow. Must have been wondering about the kind of man he had sitting in his kitchen!

Happy Birthday, my wee one. Every time you have a birthday come around I'll always think of that dark night in The Woods, The Detective and that very tasty turkey lasagna that was gifted to us. And I'll be thinking of you. Poor thing.

Your WHMB