Aged…

I aged.  Unlike wine, my age has not sweetened me up but, like cheese, I’ve gotten stinkier, but all the better for it.

Reed:  Hey mom!  Were you born in the 19’s?

Mom:  You mean the 1900’s?  Yes, in 1976.

Reed:  (exeunt left down hall, with great volume and surprise) Wow!  Hey Douglas, mommy was born in 1976!

Thank you Mr. 21st century for making feel like I was born under a fallen tree trunk during the Civil War.

Because of my depreciation, they took pity on their wreck of a mom and bolstered her up with chocolate.  I’ve almost forgotten their comments, almost.  I ended up making my own cake and frosted it PINK, a color not often displayed in this house.  There was a cup of leftover icing that Isaac decided would go well with Hot Tamales, the ones he got for me (happens to be his favorite candy).  Chris got me a $25 gift certificate from Amazon, apparently I’m a hard one to shop for.  I don’t think I’m hard to shop for, I just happen to like things that aren’t in our budget.  All in all, it was a lovely day.  Douglas even managed to almost not fight for most of the day, per his promise that I had in writing in my birthday card given to me from him, “Happy Birthday mommy, I promise  not to fight.—Love Douglas”  Can I get that in writing daily?  “Sons, just sign here, yes on that line, a letter will be fine, oh and a finger print…yes, thank you, that will do.”