Tag Archives: birthday

The Morning After

I feel stuffed. I went out to breakfast with my dad, then came how and drank a (sugar-free) Italian soda. I also ate an aged slick of Red Velvet cake. I should have checked with Weight Watchers but didn’t and now only have their permission to eat vegetables today.

My party was dreamy. The food was delicious, the friends (and parents) were joyous. They old happy stories and laughed and laughed at their shenanigans and adventures and all those things to come. I gave each guest a bookmark with a Bible verse that reminded me of them and how they blessed me. I read the cards and cried as I told each story. Some other people cried too.

An example?

“Exodus 15:20: Miriam the prophetess, Aaron’s sister, took the timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dancing.”

This was for my friend, MC, who sings like a bell. When she is behind me at church I feel like the world is lighter. I took my parent’s wedding vows and split them on to two cards. (From the book of Ruth.) Everyone got something wonderful and MC’s husband said, “I feel like it’s my birthday!” Which is exactly how I hoped they would feel.

This morning, after breakfast, I took my dad to the best florist and pretty things shop to find something for my mother. He already bought her a yoga mat and a pretty vase under my tutelage, but he wanted something “wow”. That is why my dad is awesome and he cannot stick to a budget when it comes to December. (He is getting my brother a table saw.) He bought her a beautiful stand, a beautiful plant and an adorable reindeer made of moss. The owner wrapped it all up in a pretty ribbon and he was ready to go. My dad went home afterwards, and of course that is a little bit sad. I deliberately cleared up my schedule this week, and even though he left, I am glad he came.

About work: I am through with it. They trained me on this client and then did not put me on the schedule to work with him. I have no work and haven’t for a few weeks. Twice a client’s parents told my supervisor they didn’t want me there anymore. It’s time to take a hint, and that is, they don’t like me. I like them, still, but T doesn’t like them, mom doesn’t like them and to be honest, I don’t need the stress. My husband still thinks is’t the “perfect job for (me).” It may be, if anyone thought I was any good at it, but no one at the Company does. Also, they keep screwing with my time cards and also being rude. Who needs that?

My mom made the point that I didn’t have time to take care of my health if I was working, even just a few hours a day. I haven’t started working out since the Psychiatrist told me to do so. Not once. Well, unless you count walking, but I don’t think a 36 year old should be able to do count that. When my mom and I walk there is no panting or sweating and I think I need to have that. Or whatever.

I went to a store on my own today and….. (spoiler alert) DID NOT BUY SHOES. There was nothing I wanted, really, which is a sign I’m not manic. I also didn’t eat a slice of cake at eleven o’clock at night and didn’t stay up way past my bedtime….although I really don’t have a bed time.

Missing my reader friends, and you know who you are. It’s been too busy for anyone to read a blog, let alone email me or comment about it. I’m gong away for a few days for Christmas and probably won’t be able to write a lot. That said, I will sign out for now and wish you a joyous whatever it is you take joy from.


My Oldest Friend

My oldest friend calls herself “maudtimo” online and Monique Daviau (will remove if she doesn’t like being “outed”.)  She is a talented and prolific writer, currently studying the Michigan’s Master of Fine Arts Creative Writing Program.  I want everyone to know her name.  She writes well; she deserves it.

Probably if we met now, we would not be so close.  I am a no longer over-weight house wife who occasionally works with autistic tots.  I probably would not even get the chance to see her.  She is not hanging around church services and Bible studies and I’m not hanging out with the improv crowd. That makes me sad.  I’m limiting myself, I would love to be with other creative people.  The closest I get is crop (scrapbook) gatherings and I’ve never really been to a real one.  I work either by myself or with Small.  I think I enjoy it better that way.  I hardly admit to any kind of paper crafting at all.  This http://cocoacards.blogspot.com/2011/07/bookmark-with-origami-flower.html is why.  It’s embarrassing.  I’m more of a scrapbooking ninja (http://scrapbookninjas.com/).  

My birthday is tomorrow.  Did you remember?  In celebration Small and I have decorated the living space with birds.  (See Portlandia on youtube.)  We’re having a small dinner party hosted by my parents.  When my mother asked me where I wanted to go for dinner, I told her Five Guys.  They use peanut oil, you see.  My mother was disappointed.  “I thought you’d want to go some where nice.”  My husband gave me a “you’re being ridiculous” look.  She went upstairs and brought down this catering menu.  “This makes me want to throw a party,” she told me.  So, that is why we are having a nice, catered affair with eight of my closest friends.

My worse birthday was my sixteenth.  My dad wanted me to have a “coming-out” party, back when that was not gay.  I hadn’t enough friends to do it.  The day I drove my new car to school, I had no one to party with. I drove the friend, who is calling me a stalker in public internet venues, home.  After that I went to my brother’s middle school and chaperoned a dance.  It sucked.

That’s all for now.

Which nobody can deny (G)

We had her birthday party and it was really nice.  We had about three kids there for the first hour.  My husband asked me if I was anxious about it, and I wasn’t.  I was surprised.  It wasn’t  like  I was having symptoms of anxiety and was calming myself down from them.  I just wasn’t anxious; not at all.

Eventually a lot more kids got there.  They had a wonderful time in the cold pool and with the crafts.  There was pizza.  I could talk about how various people annoyed me, but why bother.  I’m only writing about the party so people don’t have to ask how it went.  It was good, maybe it was my favorite birthday she’s had.  Happy Birthday, Size Small!


I read some posts from January and I am struck with how differently I sound when I’m depressed.  There is no joy.  There is a lot of survival and assessment of the situation.  I don’t tell myself, “Okay, you’ve been through this before, you can do it again.”  I fear that I closely survived the last bout but may not this one.  If I can nip it in the bud, I recognize patterns, but if it gets beyond that, it is difficult to fight the illness.

I have a question for you, gentle reader:

You were given $35 to do what ever you wanted to.  Would you (a) spend it on arts and crafts supplies or (b) save it so you can get your poor dyed auburn/red hair with lots of gray and dark brown roots colored professionally?

I can’t decide.  The art supplies include embossing plates that say, “thank you” and “happy birthday” so they would help me bless others.  Having good hair is a way to bless others, too.

They don’t grow up too fast (PG)

Small’s birthday party is tomorrow.  My dad arrives today.  I spent yesterday cleaning, mostly because I wanted a good, clean house two days in a row.  The clutter has already taken over, so I have very little to show for the two days of hard, unpleasant work.  At least the banister is clean.  The bathrooms need cleaning again.  I will work on putting things together, for the sake of my dad.

I have ten RSVPs for the birthday party, not including the parents that are coming to supervise.  (Good thing it’s only ten, I only have 14 gift bags.)  Parents that stay have a point.   It’s a pool party, and even though we have a lifeguard I’ve never bought they were a part of a safety plan.  Maybe if  I ever saw one do anything more than kick teenagers out of the kiddie pool I would feel differently.  We’re also driving to the pizzeria after our allotted swim time.  Some people don’t want their kids driving in other people’s cars.

She is going to be seven.  It seems so old.  She’s already not a baby anymore, she’s a kid.  It hasn’t gone so fast as people warned me.  I think it’s for two reasons.  #1, I practiced a lot of attachment parenting.  She slept with me most of the time and I carried her in a moby wrap while she was a baby and an ergo carrier when she got to be a toddler.  (I used that until she was too heavy for me.  It works up to 90 pounds, though.  The ergo helped a lot on cranky days.  I’d pop her in the back and she was mostly quiet and content after that.)  #2 I was right there with her most of the time.  I have the luxury and privilege of being a mostly stay  at home mom.  What ever jobs I had were only an hour/few hours a stretch.  I did take much needed breaks, she was an active, spirited child, and I ‘m not a perfect mom.  Often I was an inattentive mom.  There were days she woke up looking stretched out – as if she was two inches taller.  However, time didn’t slip by.  Some days were long, a few were short, but I mostly got to be right there, watching her grow up.

Knowing she is probably my first and last has made me parent and observe more intently.  I am sure that my friends with four, five + kids are still attentive to them, but it must be different.  I don’t choose who gets to pick the story.  I make whatever she wants for breakfast.  You can’t carry twins in an ergo.  Of course these memories are nostalgia.

Is Small spoiled?  I always saw a spoiled kid as one that didn’t accept the final word of their parents.  We were in a yogurt shop with a lot of gumball machines.  This little girl came in begging her mom for a toy from the machine.  She was yelling, asking over and over again and mom said, “no” several times.  Mom ordered the yogurt and got her change.  Then she gave the money to her daughter to let her get whatever she liked from the machine.  “No” did not mean “no”, it meant keep whining and I’ll let you do whatever you want.  I don’t want to judge her, but I am a judgmental person, and I saw that as spoiling the child.  We make every effort not to do things like this and we don’t listen to whining.

I’m not done raising Small, and I guess in some ways I never will be.  This blog is not intended to be a parenting manual, even though it may seem like it, lately.  I have a friend, T, who requested parenting information, so here you go!  If there is anything else any of you want me to write about, drop me a note or leave a comment and I will do so.