Ingies n' Things

I turned 41 recently. Very recently.

No longer can I say “Oh, I’m forty,” and act like it is no big deal because now I am in my forties, tucked in nicely with margins on both sides.

That’s ok. I’ll take turning 41 to not.

And my children brought me gifts . . . which is one of my favorite parts of the whole deal.

My darling daughter made me a necklace. She calls it a “personality necklace.” The project involved ribbon, paper, silk flowers, markers and a glue gun . . . any excuse to use a glue gun . . .

Isn’t it lovely?

I’m “nice.”

Several times during the project she asked me, “What is your personality, Mamma?”

After spending a bit of time trying to figure out exactly what she was looking for I told her I was extroverted. She didn’t like that answer. She kept asking the same question.

Finally she asked, “Is there a shorter word for your personality?”

“Extroverted” didn’t fit on the paper.

So I’m “nice” . . . which isn’t exactly how she describes me when she gets crabby and I make her go to bed early . . . but that is another story.

My sweet son, being the romantic, charming little boy he is, gave me a rose.

Isn’t it beautiful?

Being a romantic, charming, Alaskan boy it is a duct tape rose.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

My dear husband made me dinner. It was wonderful.

It was even wonderful when G (who generally behaves exactly as one would expect a healthy six-year-old boy to behave – sometimes beautifully, sometimes not so much) suddenly leapt out of his chair, dashed around the table and smeared mayonaise on his sister’s right eyebrow.

What?!?

Who does that?

Better yet, who even comes up with the idea to do it?

My son, that’s who, laughing maniacally the entire time.

After successfully completing his lightning fast impromptu finger/face-painting session G promptly dove into the dog crate and smashed himself into a back corner so his father couldn’t reach him. I had to cover my face to suppress outright laughter. G was absolutely delighted with himself. R and Daddy didn’t think it was so funny.

Dinner came complete with dessert and candles.

A “4” candle and a “1”  candle to be exact . . . which is a good thing because 41 candles never would have fit. See?

As my husband was putting the candles on the dessert I asked him if I could be 14 instead of 41.

“Yea,” he said in his usual understated zero-inflection delivery method, “but I would probably get in trouble.”

Happy Birthday to all the other fish out there swimming around in the pond.

Cheers,
D

P.S.  This morning when putting the dishes away I found a “2” candle in the cupboard. I’m pretty sure my husband wasn’t planning ahead for next year. I’m thinking he wasn’t exactly how sure about my age.