Today I am 39. 

I went out on the weekend and my friend danced me around and whooped and all that jazz when the DJ did the birthday shout outs. A guy and his gf “awww”ed and asked me how old I was, as though I was a widdle baby and how cute, OR as though I was Betty White and still sticking it to the man after all these years. I told him I was 39 but it might have sounded like 29. He might have thought I looked fucking old for 29 or he might have thought I was lying. Whatever, dude. 


Today I went off to the gym and came home to a surprise breakfast downtown, and then had a timely nap before work! Best morning ever?! Only there was 3 cakes at work for me today. Seriously. I brought one home and you wouldn’t believe how good it smells.

Home-made German Chocolate Cake

So it’s been a fine day, one that I’m appreciative of and thankful for. So much so, without sounding like a complete prat, that I’ve been stepping over occasional pennies on the street because I’m lucky enough, and someone else needs the idea of those pennies to help them along. I don’t need to hog all the good things, so I hope someone grabs those pennies and has cake, too.


Happy Crappy Birthday

After being super busy at work all week, Husband’s team has a rugby tournament interstate, so we hauled along with him. We decided it would be worth the drive to hang out a little, and trade rain at home for rain somewhere else, and try our hands at other bmx races.
Sleeping in hotels is supposed to be fun, but when we are booking these crazy adventures, we forget that sleeping in hotels with our kids is sort of a chore. Pillow fights aside, bad pillows and poor mattresses, loudly random a/c units and wine in plastic or styrofoam cup-type chores.
Anyhoo, after braving the roads and the “how much longer ” s, the “he won’t give me” whatevers and the “he’s looking at me”s, we made it to our destination and had a fun time at the local track. Husband was busy with the team so we kept ourself busy at the park and at dinner.  But today is Husband’s birthday, and it’s been a good day for him but a crappy birthday. He won’t have a confortable night sleep all weekend; he doesn’t get to sleep in the same bed as his lovely wife – though he does get a bed to himself; he doesn’t get any presents (at least until we get home); he has his celebratory drink in a clear plastic cup while his lovely wife doodles online for christmas cards and bmx tracks, and he will wake up to a mediocre pancake breakfast downstairs in the lobby. Boo friggity hoo.
Husband actually forgot my birthday when we got married, and last year I had a particularly lame non-celebration of my birthday. This year it appears to be his turn. But it’s not all bad. Tomorrow he can wake up somewhat refreshed after not being kicked in the junk all night after sharing a bed with his 6yo (tonight that’s my job, sans junk), rejoice in yet more rugby; drive 5 hours home to a bunch of thoughtful gifts,  sing ‘the hills are alive’ in the green green backyard after opening his presents; enjoy his beverage of choice in glassware of his choice and repair to his chamber with his lovely wife.

Happy Birthday Husband, luv ya guts. And ya beard.