Yesterday was such a perfect day. First thing in the morning, my friend Nath delivered a birthday cake that was just like my Grandma King used to make for me when my family happened to be travelling on my birthday (and which I remember eating for breakfast before getting in the car for a long ride home): angel food with strawberry frosting.
The kids and Kevin gave me the whole day off. I went shopping, an annual event, and refreshed my wardrobe for the coming year. (And, no, I’m not exaggerating; it really is an annual event. Lucky me, my birthday falls during prime sales time). Add to the list of happy happenings: yoga, naptime, dinner out, and late-night vegging on the couch watching episodes of Modern Family (why so funny? can’t analyze it), and it was such a fine day.
When I came home from shopping, I found these messages on our chalkboard.
“Happy birthday Mom! why we love you.”
“I love everything about you mom, the way you look smell and act.” “I love how you’r a good role model to look up too. When I grow up I want to be just like you.”
“She plays piano.” “You are generous.” “I love how she does everything.” “She makes the best cookies.” “She makes the best food.” [this message brought to you by the fussiest of all my eaters!] “She gets lego for me.” “She cooks for us.” “You read bedtime stories.” “Because you are organized and kinda bossy.” [“Who wrote that one?” “Daddy!”]
When I was a kid, I was pretty sure my birthday fell at the wrong time of the year. Now I’m pretty sure it’s exactly right. Just when I’m collapsing into the post-Christmas/pre-New-Year’s slump, along comes my birthday to fill me right back up again.
Which is good, because today we return to our regularly scheduled programming.