The beauty of birthdays - yes, it's my BIRTHDAY, haven't you heard? - beyond age thirty isn't in the decaying image staring back at me in the mirror. As soon as the Baby Factory portion of my life concludes - NO, I AM NOT CURRENTLY WITH CHILD, THANK YOU FOR ASKING - you know I'll be matriculating at the Demi Moore School of Scorched Earth Dermatology a.s.a.p.
No, the wonder of birthdays now is in the simplicity. Alas, the world - or my world, at least - no longer ceases spinning on its axis each January 20th. Elaborate parties and fancy get-ups aren't really part of the equation anymore. The little things I've always wanted, though, that regular, picket fenced life with my best boys, is:
A morning at toddler story time with friends and an evening at the movies with my other, best boys (the Anonymous Husband *and* Colin Firth, forever and ever, amen!) is all I want out of this day, and always.
Well, almost all I want . . . since it is my BIRTHDAY and all, and therefore my day to make ridiculous demands, I'd love to do a roll call here today. For lurker readers - you there, the ones hiding who've never left a comment - I'd love to hear who you are and where you're from and, if you blog, something about your site so I can come investigate. For you regulars, please leave me a love note or dirty joke, your choice; I promise to clutch my pearls accordingly in case of the latter.
I'm off to catch up on my blog reading, which f
Ready? ROLL CALL! Exclamation point! (I mean it) (For serious) (Parentheses)