So today was my birthday. I say "was" because really I only have an hour left until I go to bed, and I am thinking that not much is going to happen between now and then. That is a good thing, because if I had to rate this particular birthday day, it would be pretty much at the bottom.
When I was younger, I thought that the world should revolve around me on my birthday. The birds should sing, the sun should shine (but not too warmly), and everything be just generally perfect. Imagine my disappointment when it first rained on my birthday. I think I was about 7 and I took it as a personal insult. Since then, I have gotten a bit better about it, but I still think there is this teeny-tiny part of me that still wants that perfect day (ok, maybe not so teeny-tiny).
I woke up groggy, having gone to bed late after a discussion that devolved into a semi-argument with my husband over disablility benefits and their effect on business. If you have read this blog before, you should be somewhat aware of our respective positions. I went to bed much too late for my own good, and paid the price when Mr. Personality woke up at 6:40am.
The termite man came over, and pronounced us practically drowning in subterranean and wood-eating termites. It will cost us about $600 of money we could dearly use as a fall-back cushion. The only piece of good news was that the wood-eating termites would be the province of our homeowners association, since they are in the outside eaves. Because of termite man and Hubba-hubba having to leave early for work, I was unable to work out this morning on my treadmill.
Mr. Personality wound up taking a two hour nap, and upon waking screamed hysterically for, "Dada! Dada!" Upon entering his room and sitting down on his bed I was literally pushed off the bed and mucous-ly told to, "Go away, Mama." There is no reasoning with a groggy two year old, and the next forty-five minutes or so was spent trying to console him and not take his rejection too personally. Mind you, this particular need for Dada has never occurred before. Ever.
Since it was a fairly nice day (goodness, something positive!) we went to the park. Which is where I got my first experience of being an embarassment to my son and again being told to basically go away. Mr. Personality was playing with a boy that was quite a bit older, about five. Thus, he was wanting to do all the physically challenging things the other boy could do with ease, but was a bit more difficult for him. He is very gifted in the physical coordination and strength area, so most of it was not too much of a problem. But then there was the issue of climing this monkey-bar type thing backwards. I could tell that it was hard for him, and I went to go help him. This was a huge insult, and I was ordered to stay away.
When we arrive home, my husband calls and breathlessly informs me that he is ok. I am thinking, of course he is ok, what is he talking about? He said, "Didn't you see it on the news?" Apparently there was an incident in the city he works in that endangered people's lives and possibly injured people. So then I thought, good grief, my husband could have been in the hospital and here I was blithely shopping at Kohl's thinking everything was hunky-dory in that particular arena. And me with no cell phone and no pager.
Not to mention my back hurt today, I had only uncomfortable underwear that was clean, someone stole my parking space, and I have a large pimple on my chin.
Is this any indication of how 34 is going to be?