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...little pieces and parts are coming together.
I would fill my house with this lamp from Target. Want one? I will ship to you. My charge is that you must buy me two of them for the one I buy you. Totally a fair deal.
White tray is from Anthropologie (another gift from Carron).
Ring holder was a gift from my mom from here.
...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:
A stack of magazines:
...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?
...I desperately need to feel like at least one area in our house is done. Complete. Finished. So I am now considering the foyer a room and calling it done.
Mirror (thanks, Mom). * Rug (yes, the new "Shops" at Target are bad, bad news). * Nest and Eggs (from Carron, who has impeccable gift-giving taste, lucky me).
After a few seasons hiatus, I will be watching The Bachelorette again tonight. And I really, really hope the guy arriving in the helicopter is Chris Harrison suited up to be a "contestant," you know post-divorce and what-not.
...everyone's smiling, everyone's looking at the camera, and I only had to photoshop the bags under ONE of our eyes.
When I am up too late, entirely too late, way too late, seeing this in the kid's bathroom at the top of the stairs makes the fact that I'm only going to get four hours of sleep somehow slightly OK. Slightly.
...for understanding...for sharing...for loving her (almost) as much as I did.
"Not the least hard thing to bear when they go from us, these quiet friends, is that they carry away with them so many years of our own lives." John Galsworthy
Two years. Hard to believe. It still feels like she's at a trip to my mom and dad's and will come panting in the door any minute. Even though she wouldn't know this door. And she wouldn't know Clara. And Charlie would look like a grown man to her now.
She is constantly on my mind. On our minds. She would have loved it here. She would have been eleven now, an old lady in dog years. I imagine she would have lived out her twilight years on our screen porch, chasing all the wildlife in her mind.
I miss her when Clara's 9,492th puff lands on the floor.
I am still not sure we will ever get another dog. My heart, well, it's still broken. She was...the best.
