POOP, I’m a Butterfly
This is how my 30s went: pregnant and awesome, awesome babyness, terrifying baby surgeryness, community awesomeness, Hell, Big Loss-Trauma #1, soberness, the New Start, the Big Move, fabulous parentness, Big Loss-Trauma #2, more hilarious trials and tribulations, late 30s amazingness and I’m in a chrysalis and it’s squeezing me and POOP, I’m a butterfly. That was it in a nutshell. But seriously, let me tell you about TODAY.
This morning I woke up as usual exactly one minute before my alarm went off. 6:59, every morning of the week. Every morning, you ask? How is this possible, you ask? Magic, I reply.
Lordy Lordy, look who’s 40.
Mo, Ry and I did our morning routine while singing all our conversations to the tune of our favorite Andrea Bocelli song. Then we listened to that song, Time To Say Goodbye, all the way to Waldorf. My family. I love them.
We stopped over at my mom- and dad-in-law’s after for tea and gifts and visiting. Betty fed us bagels and pomegranate seeds. Knobby serenaded me sweetly with his rendition of the birthday song and made me love him even more, which I didn’t think possible, because I love Betty and Knobby a whole awful lot. My in-laws. I love them.
Exhausted by the opera singing and hugging and eating and waves of love from Facebookworld that took place from 6:59 to 10 a.m., upon returning home I collapsed dramatically to the sofa and crashed utterly and completely for about two hours. Then I chatted with Mom for a while, always a treat, because she’s awesome. See above statement re “My family”. After giving me my annual Huge-Ass White Roses B-day Bouquet ™, Mo took me to lunch at my favorite hole in the wall restaurant since the history of ever, Sari Sari. It’s so good you think your brain must be playing tricks on you, because you just never thought any food could taste this exquisitely amazing. I got what I can only describe as Filipino fish chowder. In other news, I would like to open a restaurant next door to Sari Sari called S’okay S’okay.
Then we went to Goodwill in the uber-off chance that I might find a pair of knee-high zip-up high-heel leather boots in size 9 and 1/2 for my costume party, and you know how many times I went into Goodwill to find, I don’t know, a shirt, any color, size large, that semi fits, and gone away frustrated and empty handed? Damned if I didn’t leave there with a pair of knee-high zip-up high-heel leather boots in size 9 and 1/2. And a sweater that looks amazeballs on me, and the exact set of Ball jars I’ve been needing for the homestead. Because Goodwill knew it’s my birthday.
We picked up Ry and met cousin Amy for coffee, Amy who was there for my very first birthday in Lebanucky and who has made me feel like I fit in in this new town I’m calling home. Then home for a chilly walk down the tracks, me and the dogs, and my new dog-beating stick that I carry in case another big 0ff-leash dog comes barreling out to try to kill Jake and Paw, like what happened earlier this week that ended up with Jake all battered and Mo with a bite to the hand after body-slamming a monstrous lab. (They’re both healing fine.)
Then it was just regular nighttime routine. Dinner, jammies, reading aloud from Riordan’s latest Olympians novel, snuggling, tucking in, vegging out on the computer, eyes getting blurry. Mo and Ry are asleep, Sugarpaw has her head on my shin, Jake has made himself a nest out of what were clean sheets, Wispy is curled up somewhere warm, Bo the betta is blowing sleepy bubbles in the dark. The house mouse, which is leaving tiny poo in the bottom kitchen drawer and which I will tomorrow trap in a Havahart. Paw is twitching gently and snoring in little huffs, chasing something. Tomorrow I’ll be 40 again. Life is good.