...Tonight I am 33.
You can say it. I'm old.
We started the day early. Way too early. I tried to figure out a way to get the toilet in every shot from the day but this is the only one where it worked out:
...then my teenage son, who I had to wake up at 8:30, and I took off for his last day of school:
...momma went to Starbucks, where she read every facebook message, every e-mail, and every text that had come in, while drinking the largest drink possible because somehow Starbucks knew it was my birthday:
...then we had a date with all Charlie's classmates (and teacher) at the park, where he received the award for, "Never pooping at school."A mother couldn't be prouder:
Everyone was really happy to be there.
Then we came home. There's no better feeling than coming home to this:
My cleavage looks 33.
Dinner out and home for baths:
(Clara looks extremely muscular. She does some tough upper-body workouts).
Dessert. Chocolate covered strawberries from my local farmer and a cupcake from, well, Acme:
...and a very, very smart, sweet husband who must have heard me in the middle of the night the other night when I grumbled, "All I want for my birthday is a night in a f*!^&* hotel:"
I have to say, I feel 33. I am tired. Today's to-do list included dropping off the check for the mosquito control program, paying medical bills, and making an appointment to fix the burners on the stove. Three year-olds don't understand, "But it's my birthday" when they don't want to nap. Nine month-olds don't understand, "But it's my birthday" when they are up at 5 a.m. But even when that three year-old was whining from not napping, it was music to my ears to hear him moan, "Mommmamommamommma." And even though that nine month-old was up way too early, it's hard not to love her, "I love you so much" grin. Yes, birthdays are not quite the same these days, are they?