For instance, yesterday morning I didn't go for a run, I went for a birthday run.
It was foggy and cold and windy and I did not, did not, DID NOT want to go. Usually I get over this feeling about a mile into the run, but this one, despite its brevity, was a struggle the whole way through, even if it was a birthday run.
The slog of a run meant I could eat sour cream doughnut holes- excuse me, birthday sour cream doughnut holes- relatively guilt-free.
Caedmon made me a birthday bracelet made of baker's twine.
He even wrapped it, which meant I had to squeeze him and kiss him and smoosh his face, all of which he suffered through very manfully. Then we took a birthday picture together, because he actually likes doing that.
I also went to birthday book club, which was delightful, and went birthday grocery shopping, which was okay, better than regular grocery shopping, anyway. I opened a few gifts, among them this packet of cleome seeds:
They're from my aunt Kay. She not only gathered them from her own plant, she also penned that little illustration on the seed packet, because she is both talented and generous.
Caedmon and I made a birthday visit to the closest used bookstore, because if someone were to ask me what light through yonder window breaks, my reply would be that it is the east, and used bookstores are the sun. (Man alive I am classing things up around here today. Mangled Shakespearean quotes must be what floats to the top of your consciousness when you turn 33. I'll take it.)
Our Cade feels a trifle differently about the bookstore, as it is generally a confusing and borderline distressing place for him to go, as our conversation proved while we were there:
Me: "Caedmon, what are you doing with all those books you've piled here? Are you going to sit in one of those beanbag chairs and read them while I look around?"
Son: "No, I'm going to check them out."
Me: "Ah. Caedmon, this is a bookstore, not a library. We can't check books out. You can look at them while we're here, but if we wanted to bring them home, we would have to buy them."
Son: "I think I'll just check them out."
The discussion devolved from there, ending with him still incredulous he couldn't bring a massive amount of whichever books he wanted home, even if he promised to bring them back. I, however, did find one treasure, pictured above in the background. I've been wanting to read I Capture the Castle for quite some time now, but I actually bought that copy as a gift, except I may have read the first twenty or so pages before giving it to my friend, because apparently I have some kind of illness. I plan on picking up my own copy at the library tomorrow, because my instructions to the poor thing were, "See, now you can read this copy, and then I'll read the library's copy, and then we can discuss it together!" Because apparently I can't even give a gift without telling someone what to do.
Derek's mom was also kind enough to drive down for the evening to watch the kids while he and I went out on a date, where I discovered the flags were being flown at half-mast in honor of my special day:
This happens every year, and it's always so embarrassing to have such a fuss made over me! [See also: What it's like to share a birthday with a national tragedy.]
It was a full and lovely and wonderful day. I think I'll do it again some time.