I had a birthday. Well, technically, I've had thirty-five of them now. That's a more recent development, that thirty-fifth birthday.
My Michael and the kids made me this cake in my new Bundt pan. I also got the power sander I've been wanting!
I spent the day with my little family. In the morning, I took Teensy to a birthday party. It was at the roller rink. Did you know those are still around? I figured it out and I think the last time I went skating was when I was 20 years old! Even though my dear friend gave me this advice/warning when she heard how I was spending my morning: "Don't break something! You're not as young as you once were!" I still felt young and spry out there on my skates.
On the floor, I skated forward and backward (those were the only tricks I had ever known), so I was pleased with that. And while I giggled with my five year-old whist doing the chicken dance on roller skates, I had this thought: You haven't lived until you've chicken danced on roller skates with a five year-old. It was a genuinely enjoyable morning.
With just one small dark mark upon it. During eat-the-cake time, I was talking to another mother and mentioned that it was also my birthday. Her immediate response was, "Oh, are you forty?"
Excuse me? Who says that? I think that even if I were forty I would have been caught off-guard.
I was a little surprised and said, "No, no I'm not. I'm just barely 35. Today." I wasn't offended. Just surprised. I don't think that is a typical response to someone saying that it's her birthday. I think the typical response is, "Oh, it is? Happy Birthday!" but maybe that's just me.