Holla! For getting older!

I awoke the other morning with the realization it was my birthday.  The kids have been struggling with sickness the past few weeks and I was up before the rooster to help an ailing child in need. When I finally snuggled back under the covers I grabbed my sweetie's hand expecting to doze off quickly.  My expectations are rarely met when it comes to sleep.  My mind attacked me.  Sleep became a distant dream.  32. Wow.  Here's a blog draft I wrote last year at this same time:

Dear Mom,

The other day I celebrated my 31st birthday. I got to thinking about the time you told me you felt like you were playing house for the first decade or two of your marriage. I've decided I have similar feelings. I'm now forging ahead into my thirties and life is a bit surreal. Many mornings as my eyes begin to flutter open I feel confused and have thoughts such as: "I think there might have been a man in my bed during the night. Who are these children and why are they asking me for cereal? Where is their mother? If I duck under the covers will they go away? I better get up or I'll be late for class. Did I have a paper due today?"

Sometimes I forget I am in my thirties. Sometimes I'm pretty sure I'm still 19. My actions would be prime evidence for this theory. But, as I rub the sleep out of my eyes and try to get out of bed there is a stiffness in my back and my ankles crack on the first few steps toward the bathroom. The bathroom mirror reminds me those ARE my children asking for breakfast...a stretched and flabby stomach is the sure indicator.  Apparently I've given birth a few times. The only other plausible conclusion: alien abduction.

The commencement of year 32 was a pretty normal day.  Although  I did  receive multiple phone calls,messages, and emails with expressions of gratitude that my  mom birthed me.  It was quite sweet.  I am blessed with a loving family and true friends.  I will have to remember to tell my mom she did a good job.  By the end of the night Mr. Handsome wondered how his efforts paid off.    Perhaps the greatest blessing of all was no vomiting on my "happy" day.  I imagine the kids and Mr. Handsome got together while I was out of the room and the discussion went something like this, "Okay, let's try really hard to keep our food in our stomachs today, our internal body temps at 98.6, and try to look happy despite our sunken eyes and clammy, paled skin.  It's mom's birthday and let's see if she can go a whole day without using the carpet spray.  Team effort here kids!  On the count of  three:  "Go Team! Hold Your Vomit In!" 

Here are the birthday present wrappers. Shyler already has them enlisted at a young age to do his dirty work.

Dashle said, "Mom, today is my birthday, okay?  It's not your birthday, IT IS MY BIRTHDAY! Yay! Happy Birthday to me!" 

 One of my dear friends here in the Ohio told me her 32nd year has been the best yet. I hoped it was a flawless guarantee for me then, too.  She went to Spain/Morocco right after her birthday with no kids for nearly 2 weeks. I'd say any birthday would be the "best yet" with an exotic trip for two.  Here I am a few days after my birthday with a new discovery that the painful little rash on my torso isn't a strange case of bug bites, but Shingles. Sweet. Happy 32nd year to me. Not quite like Spain.  No pity please. I'm just saying.

We took the kids to a matinee showing of Toy Story 3 at the dollar theater.
It was a nearly perfect outing despite some complaining and whining on the drive home. That's what makes experiences memorable...when something or someone goes a muck. By the way: Why do I always go to the theater hungry?  It just means I devour way too much popcorn with some sort of chemically enhanced liquid butter on it and by the drive home I feel like a big ball of lard.  Sick, I feel sick.   Here's to 32.