Okay, so I'm really just thinking about Coldstone Ice Cream. Why do I do that when I have SIX QUARTS of home made ice cream in my freezer. (very yummy, thanks hubby, for the black market version of Cherry Garcia. Yummy.) With all that ice cream crammed in the freezer my monthly Costco run to score valuable discounted food items for this family of seven has been postponed until at least four quarts are gnawed out of my fridge. So, we are down to eating:
1. grilled cheese sandwiches made with either velveta or Havarti cheese
2. pancakes from a mix
3. left over fried rice
4. go gurt
And that is all, my friends.
Anyhoo, it was a very pleasant little birthday. I managed to get through it without feeling too fat, old or boring. I did get my coveted handbag. Phone calls, friends came over. Lemon cake and Thai food. Yes, it's all about the fatty stuff you can eat on your birthday, but hasn't it always been that way? So nice and friendly. That is until my children became involved. And my children's gifts.
This is the handmade craft by the kindergartner-on-the-cusp-of-first-gradedom. The "I'll teach that kid to read so he doesn't have to live with me for the rest of my life if it seriously kills me child." The boy who really can not care less about what he looks like and will, I guarantee it, be the first to walk down the aisle with no underwear, mismatched socks, his zipper down and his shirt on inside out and backwards.
So when he lifted up this creation - all anatomically correct - two legs! two arms! hair (who cares if he only cared enough to put enough dark construction paper to show the world my roots and not the $100 glistening blond dye job I get every other month,..) and check out that bicep by the way,...
But let's take a closer look at that pompon belly button that must be after the tummy tuck he is hinting I need since it's a little higher than on your average mom. Or it's my mono-boob. Not sure, really, except perhaps after I'm finished nursing this fifth kid, I'll invest in some unmentionables that lift and separate, as my seven year old seems to be hinting I need it. Oh, and that little black circle in my tummy? It's Sophia. So, for his little life span I have been pregnant for about 90% of it. He sees me as some eternally pregnant human being. God help me.
This is from my loving eleven year old who is about to become a tween. You can tell by his so funny sense of humor, no?
Then there is my sweet little middle boy. And the front of the card has my first favorite dinosaur:
The inside has my second favorit dinosaur:
and the back cover has my favorite mammal (a horse):
So, then all us adults were commiserating about how tough it is to get old and I told a story about an unsettling event at football practice the other night: as I was hoofing it up the big hill to the practice gates, cell phone firmly glued to my ear, an obnoxious, obviously nearsited and non-too-bright little punk, er, I mean boy had the audacity to ask me, "Are you Jason's Grandma?"
I flashed him the mommy glare, of which he paid no mind and continued to ask me, "Aare you Jason's Grandma?" "Are you?" "Are you Jason's GRANDMAAAWWW??"
To which I curtly replied; "No. I. Am. Not." and stomped away in a huff.
So, on that eve of the first day of the rest of my life being a 39 year old I find this on my pillow:
So, let me just tell you this once, my dear little boys. Listen close: This year for Christmas? Your gifts will be highly dense and leave a dark, carbony residue.