Yesterday, I turned thirty-four years old.
Despite what could have been massive PMS (Oh! Did I tell you that I think I have PMDD? I'm supposed to journal my symptoms. Wouldn't that make a fun blog?) I had a great birthday.
First and foremost, my husband wrangled his way onto an early flight home and was able to spend my birthday with me. He sped home from the airport so that we would have time for a nooner before we had to pick my son up from his last day of preschool. Good man. Even if he got a speeding ticket, it would have been worth it.
Once we got the boy, the three of us went out to a deli for lunch. I love spending time with just my men. I guess it is maybe because I spent a couple of years with just my daughter and my husband before my son was born. But it is rare that my husband, son, and I spend time without my daughter.
When we were walking out of the deli's exit, my son was preoccupied with the squares on the floor. My husband held the door for me, and once I got through, I tuned at the sound of a bump/smack. My son had walked right into the glass wall beside the door.
How bad of a mother am I for laughing hysterically at him?
It was just so cute. He cried, not because he was hurt but because I "hurt his feelings." Poor baby. It can't be easy being my kid. I apologized to him. But it still makes me giggle.
We spent the evening at my daughter's last softball game of the year. That may be the best present I got all day--that we're done with this torture-by-idiot-softball-coach. My daughter struck out both at-bats and looked into the stands at us and started crying on her walk back to the bench both times. The other parents must think we beat her for striking out. Actually, she's crying because she doesn't "get to" run. It's "not fair", you know.
At dinner, I got to be lectured by my seven-year-old about drinking alcohol. She takes all the fun out of a strawberry margarita. Can you imagine what she'd say if she saw me on the night of the infamous twenty-seven once margarita?
This morning I was hungover, not from one measly margarita but from a night of I-haven't-seen-you-in-a-week-and-it's-your-birthday sex. You can't beat that. But you can be hella sore from it.
Oh, I got great flowers from Patrick, an adorable card from Brian, and birthday wishes from other assorted friends and bloggers. Thanks, you guys! I bet you'd be surprised to know how much it means to me that people think of me on my birthday. Even my mom managed to remember this year. I got a phone call and a card!
I'm really looking forward to the coming year, even though my husband will be gone for most of it. I have big plans. Thirty-four seems like a great year for change, travel, and adventure. Don't you think?
And I'll have birthday sex to remember all year. It's the gift that keeps on giving.