I just discovered that I never posted this. Oops. Got caught up in the contest stuff. Post your entries on the Pages in the right sidebar.
My birthday on Sunday was all one could wish for, thanks in part to all the good wishes from blogging buddies near and far. Thank you.
Now that I am one year older, I expect all of you to treat me with the respect due my advanced years. Respect, do you hear? QUIET DOWN AND—oh, never mind.
The day started around noon (as all should, in the opinion of this dedicated sleeper-inner) with waffles and all the trimmings: fresh strawberries, toasted pecans, whipped cream, and of course maple syrup. My parents most courteously waited until we were done before calling to sing Happy Birthday in harmony.
It takes a while to recover from a meal like that, but when I could breath again, I put in three hours in the greenhouse, where I’m trying to finish last autumn’s interrupted preparation of planting beds. All that heavy digging was perfect for clearing my arteries, which I knew were due for another cholesterol-ladden assault that evening.
I exceeded my usual daily goal of one 4’x4’ square and returned to the house almost as tired as I was dirty. Then I did something I haven’t done all this busy, busy winter: I drew a hot bath. Ah.
Both kids were over that evening for one of my favorite meals (filet mignon with a sauce of fennel-flavored tomato paste alongside pasta topped by zucchini and carrots in a creamy basil sauce) and of course, chocolate mousse, all prepared by my most excellent husband Steve, assisted by both sons.
Every time I tried to do anything useful or helpful, someone stopped me. When I went to lay the fire, son #1 raised his hand and lifted his chin in an imperious manner that brooked no argument. I dropped the log and slunk off to play in the corner with a couple of twigs. Eventually I was called to the table, deprived of the twigs (it was a tough day) and required to open presents.
We watched Love Actually, a gift from son #2 which I would treasure even if it contained nothing save Hugh Grant as the PM doing his curiously graceful yet inane dance through the residence. No wine-glasses were broken, and there was plenty of mousse.