Thank you for all the phone calls, emails, and comments to wish me a happy birthday. It was really nice and I appreciate every one of them. In the case of Julie, all three of them – the phone call, email, and comment on the blog. I guess I deserved it for taking such joy in her BIG FIVE OH birthday. But geez. Talk about bitter…..
I had a nice birthday. Other than a couple of rude and uncalled for comments, Bernie was sweet. The night before he asked me to set the alarm early for him so he could have enough time to get in 50 spankings. He took me to my favorite burger joint for lunch, and threatened to ask for a senior discount for me. Other than that, he was especially sweet and made sure I had a great birthday.
Today was a kind of lazy day for us. We slept in until Elvis decided we had slept long enough and started yowling for breakfast at 6:30AM. I got up, fed him and Priscilla, made some coffee, got a fire going in the wood burner, and then sat in my chair and wondered why turning 50 had bothered me so much. I think it’s because I still feel so young. I really don’t feel, nor act, like a “grown up”. I pout. I cry when I get a splinter. I talk to chickens. I play in kiddie pools with my great neices and nephews. I even dance naked in the yard when Bernie has his friend take him up in an airplane to survey our property. Ooops. Maybe that’s too much information.
I guess the point is, I am not old DAMMIT! And I don’t appreciate a big fat honking number making me feel like I am old! I think I’ll take my mother-in-law’s advice. I’m just going to pick a freaking number and say that’s my age. And it won’t be as dad gum big as the number I turned on January the 9th at 12:20AM. I just need to coordinate with her and make sure my number isn’t bigger than hers. We need to have some credibility, after all.
Today we have ice. Again. Everything has a big, fat layer of ice on it. Other than collecting wood and checking on chickens, we spent the entire day inside. Sometimes it amazes me that I can spend 24 hours a day, 7 days a week with no one other than my husband – and still love every minute of it. It doesn’t hurt that he is just as crazy as I am. Here is a typical Saturday conversation between us:
Him: What’s for supper?
Me: I don’t know. What do you want?
Him: I don’t care. Whatever you fix.
Me: How about meat loaf?
Him: I’m not feeling very meat loafy.
Me: How about stew?
Him: Hmmmm. I’m not feeling very stewy.
Me: Well, what are you feeling like?
Him: I was thinking about tacos.
Me: Well why the heck didn’t you say that in the first place?
Him: I thought maybe you had something else in mind.
Me: I’m not even hungry. Are you really hungry?
Him: I think I’m getting hungry. How about I make supper tonight? I’ll make the tacos.
Me: You don’t cook.
Him: Yes I do.
Me: You cook eggs. All you can cook is eggs.
Him: I can cook bacon. And sausage. Don’t forget how I can cook sausage.
Me: Well eggs, bacon, and sausage have nothing to do with tacos.
Him: If I can cook eggs, bacon, and sausage, I can cook anything. I’ll make the tacos. If you’ll help me.
So we go into the kitchen and other than browning the meat, I end up cooking supper. And then Bernie says “I made a pretty good supper, didn’t I?”.
“Yes you did honey, thank you.”
“I told you I could cook.”
Honestly. I’m losing ground here.