Wednesday, July 10, 2013

It's my birthday and I'll complain if I want to

Today is my birthday.  I'm 32. 

When you're birthday is three days before your son's birthday, his 5th birthday especially, that most certainly has to be Star Wars themed, preferably Angry Bird Star Wars, there's not much time spent pampering yourself.

No.  When you turn 32 your husband goes out the night before for a work dinner and drinks that you're not invited to, stays out until 1, and when he finally comes home neither one of you can sleep and so the morning of your birthday you wake up zombiefied, iron some pants for said husband, make coffee, make breakfast, make more breakfast because the first one wasn't enough for your growing, soon-to-be-5-year-old, and then attempt to peel off the freezer paper stencils from the 12 favor bags you've made for the kids coming to the birthday party for your son while he fights with his sister over string.  Specifically your string.

Ahem. Behold Star Wars:

And then, as you're so tired that your eyes hurt you occupy your children with television so you don't have to listen to the endless wordage and begging for popsicles that flies out of their mouths all day.  But the youngest is only satisfied with watching Mater's Tall Tales, and it's the only thing she'll actually sit still for, so when you put on something else for her brother so he doesn't have to suffer through it any more than normal, she passes the time by jumping on your head.

But then it's lunch time and so you have to make a peanut butter sandwich for the youngest only because the oldest, who had two breakfasts, says he isn't hungry, until, of course he sees his sister eating and also sees that you've sat down and don't feel like you can get back up because of the aforementioned exhaustion.  Then, then that's the perfect time for him to ask for lunch.

And now it's finally nap time so you drag a kicking and pinching and screaming little girl out of the pool you used to keep her busy and change her out of the wet bathing suit while she's flailing in anger, read her a story, then go downstairs and listen to her not sleep on the monitor and stress about the fact that she's not sleeping because you have a ton of stuff still to do to get ready for the 5 year old's party on Saturday, not the least of which is clean the whole house and paint a homemade Death Star Pinata.  Also you'd really like to sew that dress you cut out the night before because it's not enough to do all of the other crap you're doing, you have to add 'sewing a new dress' onto the list.

And you can't find anything to eat for lunch because you've given up gluten and sugar and you don't want the leftover chicken and eggs don't really sound good and all you want right now is a really good cheeseburger but sure as hell aren't going to make it yourself because you have a pinata to paint and a garland to glue together and so content yourself with complaining about your hunger and exhaustion on your blog. 

Here is what my 32 looks like:

It needs wine.

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