I can stay in my jammies if I want to. Happy Birthday to me. 35. Thirty-five. Big 3-5. Five years til 40. Argh. However, I was greeted this morning by my children, breakfast in their sweet little hands, made especially for me. On the menu? Microwaved English muffins, leftover sliced oranges and apples, orange juice, and a paper towel. Scrumptious. I am, indeed, still in my jammies, and plan to stay that way til my manicure/pedicure later today. And then, I’m going to research the price of a few injections of Botox. Blue Boy asked me last week how did I get these lines on my forehead? How. did. I. get…How did I get them? Hmmm, let me think about that about half a second.

My in laws and my niece are here. The house is quite wrecked from dragging the holiday loot back from my folks. We’re out of groceries. The laundry is behind. Children are running around in states of half dress. And mumbling something about being hungry. But. I’m just going to sit here at the laptop, or take a nap. It’s my birthday and that’s what I want to do. Later, I may make a Birthday Martini, in my own honor. Anyone have a favorite recipe?

So. Another year done. More experience. More experience. More wrinkles. Happy Birthday to me. Ack.