Yesterday was my birthday, and I am at the point in my life where I have to do the math any time I care to recall how old I am. So let's see... 74 from 10, carry the 1, I seem to be 36.
I woke up on the morning of my birthday at a hotel in Philadelphia. Twice, actually, the first time when the fire alarm went off at 12:15 and again at a more humane time. Chris and I were there for a very-delayed anniversary trip which just happened to be rescheduled for my birthday weekend, so go me. We had breakfast at the hotel, then booked it home to rescue my parents from my children and so I could take Mia to a high school musical, a tradition I was not to be excused from for any reason.
Chris made my favorite let us not think about how high in fat dinner, the children collaborated on candle placement with predictable results, then blew out my candles, opened my presents, and sang several renditions of Happy Birthday beautiful only to their mother but oh so lovely and highly valued by me.
Once we got two sugar-buzzed children off to bed, it was cleaning and laundry and the couch and the recorded shows we missed on Thursday when I spent the entire evening at the pediatrician with Mia. Of course one of the children got sick when we went out of town, that's how we roll and every couple trip or family vacation either starts or ends with a trip to the pediatrician. Luckily this time it was minor, nobody even went to the hospital.
One of my gifts was an ice cream attachment for my mixer, which I have been wanting for ages, so there will be lots of ice cream up in here soon. You should all come over to try it out. Our first flavor will be Mario ice cream, which is Owen's adaptation of my offer of Oreo ice cream. Sure to be tasty either way.