July 7, 2011

My husband likes the posts where I describe exactly what we're doing. What the kids have said. What we did. Where, and if, we ate. Of course we ate. That is what I, and inherently my children, do best.

This must be one of the differences between guys and gals. Or at least my husband and I. I do not wish to remember it exactly as it is. I will paint a rosy, glossed over picture in my mind. You can keep your reality.

But it's not my birthday. So I will oblige.

I hauled the kids to town so you could take them to the park while I went to the dentist. Then I took them birthday shopping which included two stops, and to the grocery store. Porkchop was cranky in the grocery store making me look like the worst mother ever! based on the stares. He was just tired, I'm not mean, I swear. I'm more than a little surprised she didn't spill the beans about your gift. We practiced singing 'Happy Birthday!' in the car today. The two of you practiced together this evening while we read stories before bed. You sing a mean version of 'Happy Birthday!' to yourself.

Scrunch told me this afternoon to, "Listen Sis, I'm the BossLady!" I was on the phone recounting the event to Holly and recouping some sanity when you got home. We ate cheap pizza for dinner and I fell asleep on the couch while you and the kids played outside in the sandbox. Scrunch woke me up at your request to show me the biggest zucchini you'd think you'd ever seen. You cooked it right then and we ate the whole thing. That might not have been one of our best ideas because there will be tons more where than came from and right now I don't care if I ever see a zucchini again. Don't take it personally, I feel this way about most things I eat lately. I am not the glowing pregnant type. That is not to say that I don't have a different aura about me, it's just more along the lines of the greenish hue Grimsby takes on in the opening scenes of Little Mermaid.

There is something funky going on with my body. I've tried to deny it all week thinking maybe it was my poor posture. After sucking it in all week and going to bed with my back killing me, I let it go today and there is no denying. I look like I swallowed a rather large grapefruit. I am not yet out of my first trimester and I'm shaping up to be the size of a whale. You love me, right? What about if I become the size of the house? maimed in a GoCart accident? scarred by nail polish remover?

Porkchop can walk, don't let him kid you. He just doesn't want to. Unless it includes terrorizing his sister by abducting her pink doll stroller and it's occupant, in which case he's all over it and practically runs through the house. This is made lots easier by the new flooring in the family room. They practically have a track to race around now. I'm sorry if you're still sore from installing it. There will be more where that came from. 500 sq. feet more, if my math is on track. You love me lots, remember?

You'll be getting a vacation soon. You're very excited. Two weeks backpacking. Now who loves who?

Tomorrow, I will try my best to convince Scrunch that we should make your cake something besides pink. If it is pink, know I gave it my best shot. Why argue with the BossLady?

You are thirty-one this year. Don't you forget it.

We love you.

Happy Birthday!