Today was my birthday. I let myself sleep in a bit, my girls have been sick for over a week and me too a bit. I’m tired.
When my kids asked what we were doing today and I told them, my three year old cried because it wasn’t her birthday. There were complaints over what was for breakfast and the school work to be done.
We did the school work and I cleaned the cats litter box and ran the dishwasher. I hugged and loved the sad children. We sat on the deck in the warmth and I tried to read for five minutes while the kids biked around and around and around and around the picnic table. I made tea for my kiddos while my own got cold, put down my own book, read stories about spring and gave cuddles.
I got birthday calls and people I love sang to me. I went for a run even though I didn’t really feel up to it while Aaron made my favourite dinner. I thought about God and being loved even when I am messing up and how faith means not knowing everything. I thought about how much I love my family even when I’m tired, that my husband saves my life almost daily and how I have better friends than I ever dreamed of.
Later as we ate we drank wine and I laughed with my full heart watching my kids in hysterics at asking Siri things like ‘Why do farts smell?’ and ‘Is it good to pick my nose?’ I lit the candles three times so all the kids could have a turn blowing them out. I brushed teeth and read more stories and gave goodnight kisses. I spent time with my husband in-between comforting Haven who keeps waking crying over her sore throat.
Today was so ordinary. It was a good day to turn 35.