I turned 33 on Friday.

The weekend was a whirlwind. I always feel like these things swoop in and it’s grand fun until the wind just drops you back off where you started. 

Today was a normal Monday morning. Same as it ever was. 

On Friday, the lady at the front desk told me I had a special delivery. I got down there to see it was flowers from Erin. Beautiful flowers. Because she knows I’ve never gotten flowers delivered to me before. Because she’s the best kind of friend. happy birthday flowers 

On Friday evening, I tried to throw myself a birthday party. Nobody came. I still had a blast hitting balls in the batting cages and eating ice cream cake with my family. They’re pretty tops, those guys.

 happy birthday cake

My hands are swollen and blistered. My whole body is sore from all that hitting. It’s been so long I didn’t remember that swinging a bat uses ALL the muscles in your torso. I can’t wait to go back! 

Saturday I spent all day wandering around town trying to find a place that sold the shorter, wider canning jars that I was looking for the first time. I found them. At the HARDWARE STORE. What? That makes no sense to me. 

And Sunday – busy day! Mom-o and I went out to run a couple miles. I hope I can haul ass like her when I’m her age. I hope I can even get my ass off the couch.
Then grocery shopping and grilling. And lunch and more cake over at Meghan’s place. She and her husband got all out of control this year and got me a Kindle paperwhite. They’re just trying to rip the books with paper in them out of my hands kicking, screaming, dragging me into the newest century. (But really, Jeff asked if I had any interest in one. I said yes. Now I have one!)

And the pièce de résistance: as their most generous birthday gift to me, my parents are gifting me a new mattress and box spring. I’ve had the same one since I was about 8 probably. I’m moving up in the world from a twin to a full. And I couldn’t be more giddy. 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go clean my room and make way for my big ass mattress.


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