It’s snowing AND THUNDERING here. This has become the norm in these parts….thunder and lightening every time we’ve had snow this winter. It’s very, very strange and a little unsettling. Weird weather freaks me out.

Local forecasters have been hyping and speculating on this storm for about a week now. Honestly, I don’t know why they bother. Last night, the final word seemed to be rain only….and now we have a couple of inches, wind, ice, and freaky thunder. And a snow day from school, of course!

Lucky for the kids, I got supplies for their book report projects – so they won’t have to worry about wasting the day on brain rotting activities. HA! I have a bench I want to paint, and may do some baking. I’m also making a comfort food dinner tonight – a dish that sounds awful but is so good – spaghetti squash taco bake. Mmmmm.

I finished “Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk,” and I really liked it. Last I wrote about it, I was waiting for the plot to thicken. It never really did, but that’s sort of the point. The entire novel takes place during a soldier’s visit to a Dallas Cowboys football game while on break between two tours of duty in Iraq. He and the rest of his squad (known as “Bravo”) are on a victory tour after getting some positive press during combat. The author, Ben Fountain, does a great job illustrating the juxtaposition of the real war that Bravo experienced and the imagined “war on terror” living in the minds of the Texans at the football game. There’s also quite a bit of commentary on the absurdity of the football culture in this country, which I found to be spot on and quite entertaining. Two thumbs up. Next up is “Twelve Tribes of Hattie,” passed on to me by my mom.

The kids are now on the deck in PJs and winter coats, measuring the snow with a ruler. “Whhoooooaaaaa!” After taking measurements in 3 places, the verdict is 2 inches, and it’s still coming down.

The Florida cousins are visiting this weekend, so the kids’ next order of business is to make some snowballs to put in the freezer for them. Of course, this is a sweet gesture, but in reality the sweetness is being overridden by the fighting over gloves and who gets to mold said snowballs. Sheesh.

Also, at 9:12am, the boy seems to be maxed out on “quiet time.” He is wiggling around like a worm, singing nonsense songs, and just dropped snow all over the floor in the sunroom. He’s been up since 5:30am. On a snow day. Why????

We found out this weekend that our daughter was accepted into the specialty center middle school program where she applied. The letter came on Saturday, while we were at a (hellish) swim meet, so it was opened late on Saturday evening to much laughter and dancing around the kitchen. (She had the giddy laugh and the parents did the ridiculous dancing, of course.)

Now we find ourselves in the awkward position of not knowing how other kids who applied fared. We still aren’t clear on whether the current teacher knows or not. We suggested that our daughter tell her current and past teachers today and thank them for helping her get into this prestigious program. She’s shy, so we weren’t sure she would do it — but then her teacher told the students this morning not to discuss it.

I understand that the kids who got in shouldn’t gloat. (And our daughter surely wouldn’t – she didn’t even want to accept phone congratulations from family members!) But how about letting them feel a little pride in themselves? Or even just find out if they will have a friend in tow when they head way out of Bubble territory next year on this new adventure? It really bugs me sometimes that our culture promotes all matter of bragging about anything related to sports, but when it comes to academics – it all has to be hush hush.

I’ve only told a few people in real life, for fear of hurting feelings or sounding braggy…..but can I just say here how proud the Mr. and I are of our girl? We know she will have a fantastic experience in this program – both academically and socially. We hear there is significantly less drama and mean girl crap at this school, where so many of the best students gather. That is no small thing in the middle school years!

This program will give her a much broader curriculum, access to foreign languages earlier, and incredible freedom of creativity and expression. I am so excited for her I could burst. I barely slept on Saturday night after reading the acceptance letter! Her current teacher told me (before we got the letter) that she thought our girl would be the ideal student for this program and she should definitely go if accepted. Done and done.

Remind me of how excited I am now when I start fretting about how far away her new school is come fall. But I guess it will be closer than the sleep away camp where she’s going for 2 weeks this summer. GULP.

New phase of parenting, straight ahead.

I have been scarce on the blog lately.

A lot has been going on with the people around me, some of it good, some of it not so good. I have been feeling like a rock in the middle of a moving stream, watching the water rush past in all directions, but standing still and firm. Some days it feels like my rock steadiness makes a difference — like I shouldn’t move or the water might get too strong and drown something or someone downstream. Other days it feels like the water doesn’t even know I’m there, and everything would keep flowing just the same if someone came along and moved me out of the way.

So basically I’ve been busy being a rock, and rocks don’t often feel like writing.

[Now I'm thinking of the children's book "Sylvester and the Magic Pebble," by William Steig. If you're not familiar, it's the story of a little boy who discovers a magic pebble that makes wishes come true. He finds himself confronted by a dangerous situation (a lion in the woods) while holding the pebble, and subconsciously wishes he was a rock so that he couldn't be harmed. Poof - he's a rock. And rocks can't hold pebbles and make wishes, so he's stuck. 

When our daughter was about 14 months old, we got a free copy of that book in a box of Cheerios. (And, yes - I was such a newbie neurotic mom at that point that I was cutting the Cheerios in half before giving them to her. The Mr. would NEVER let a reference to Cheerios from that phase of our lives pass without commenting on that particular neurosis.) Anyway, I used to flip through the book with our daughter, even though the story was far too advanced to read to a child of that age. Instead, we would look at the pictures, and I would give a very brief explanation as to what was happening on each page.

Once Sylvester becomes a rock, his parents are heartbroken and they send all the villagers out to look for him. There is a picture of everyone (including animals) looking for him in the woods. Whenever we would look at that page, she would say, "Vester! Where ahhh you?" in the sweetest little sing songy voice. I still love that book, and we still have the free copy from Cheerios.

When our son was in Kindergarten, his teacher read the book to the class. Then, she had them complete a worksheet that said, "If I had a magic pebble I would wish for......" Our son completed his to say, "....a baby brother and a baby sister so I could play with them."

Thankfully, he never did come into possession of a magic pebble.] 

So lots of what’s been occupying my mind lately is really someone else’s story, of which I am a part – but not the main character. Blogging doesn’t always feel right in those situations, as you might imagine.

The regular stuff is going on as usual, of course. A little pre-spring sprucing of the joint — carpets cleaned, fresh pillows and cushions in the family room, a new quilt for the guest room. A bit of writing for a paid gig that comes up every so often. A lot of shuttling kids around to various sports and activities. A touch of volunteering at school and in the community. (I am actively NOT volunteering for a drop-off event at school on Friday night so that the Mr. and I can get a date night out of it. I am trying to avoid contact with so many different people and e-mails to avoid caving in on this one. Now that I found a new Mexican restaurant AND TEQUILA BAR to try instead, it’s feeling easier to stick with my original answer of NO THANK YOU.)

I’ve also been running a lot and doing a better job tracking what I eat. The holiday, January birthday double punch took a little toll on the waistline, as it always does. Have no fear, I’m getting my butt in gear.

I ended up loving the Barbara Kingsolver book, “Flight Behavior,” though it took me awhile to get into it. The beginning starts off with a bit of a religious tilt, which didn’t grab me. Plus, I was very mired in the rock business from above at that point, so my head wasn’t really in the game. But of course, I worked my magic on the library lease books and managed to get 2 consecutive copies of the book to read it all for freeeeeee. And once I got into it, I loved all the commentary on politics, religion, climate change, education, etc. I definitely recommend it. Now I am onto “Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk,” by Ben Fountain. I’m intrigued, but anxiously awaiting some more action in the plot. It’s a National Book Award finalist and so far (1/3 of the way in) a very good character study — but I’m hoping to get a little more hooked by the story soon.

On that note, I’m off to read some more. Leave a comment to say hi, or tell me what you’d wish for with a magic pebble. 

Yesterday was quite a day. It started with an outing with some friends to visit a local establishment for brunch. At this brunch, I imbibed two bloody marys. The first one was really good. So good that it convinced me to get a second, but in retrospect – the first one was enough. Eh, you only live once.

There was a drag queen performance during our meal. It was a HOOT I tell you. Lots of fun, lots of hysterical photos, lots of belly laughing at our table. You can see how the atmosphere was conducive to ordering a second drink. It seemed like just the thing to do in the moment.

It wasn’t until I was dropped off on the corner of our street with 3 other moms, as our designated minivan driver rolled away, that I started to second guess myself. As I approached the front door, I saw the dog anxiously awaiting my arrival. Behind him was our son, wrapped in a fleece blanket. Next in line was the Mr., wielding a wooden spoon from tending the soup pot on the stove. Our daughter appeared last, holding a pencil from working on her class valentines. And what’s with the sun shining so damn brightly??

I am not a good day drinker. This whole scene, which is a totally normal Sunday afternoon scene, threw me for a loop. I coped by hiding in a corner of the kitchen and shoving cell phone photos of drag queens under the Mr.’s nose as he was chopping chicken at the counter.

Then, I decided to go upstairs and lie down for awhile….maybe catch a nap. 

HA! I’m not a napper. No go.

I was back downstairs within 15 minutes, this time to brew a cup of coffee. I got the idea from having watched “Flight,” with Denzel Washington the night before. I mean, sure – he drank for days on end and sobered up with cocaine (both snorted and smoked in a “cocoa puff” prepared by John Goodman) – but the concept of balancing out the downers with an upper was the same. (Humor me….I’m trying to sound like a bad ass.)

Anyway, the coffee worked and I was almost good as new. Good thing, because it was almost time to head out to the next performance of the day.

Instead of drag queens, this one featured our daughter and 4 other kids (all slightly older than her 11 years) in a rock band performance. She is the lead singer of this rockin’ band put together by her piano instructor. They did a 4 song set last night, and holy cow – she was fantastic! Her dad and I were so proud of her for getting up there and doing it, and then blowing everyone away with her talent. In fact, I think her talent created some sort of magical spell over her dad….he even indulged her in getting to school late after waking up with a post-gig headache. 

Final performance(s) of the night were thanks to the Grammy telecast, which I plopped my butt on the couch for once dinner was over and lunches were packed for school. I was reading a lot of commentary over Facebook, Twitter, and a live blog from my favorite NPR podcast. As I read all of this, I determined that these musical experts were mostly irritated and disgusted by how mainstream the awards and performances were. Which promptly led me to the conclusion that I am an unapologetic cookie cutter consumer of mainstream music. I enjoyed the performances and took no issue with the awards given. Of course, I’m not a fan of country music – so I could have done without that one performance (who was that? The Band Perry or something like that?). Carrie Underwood was ok, because I was distracted by her fancy projector like dress with butterflies. And then at the end….that Frank Ocean guy that all the experts were touting. What the hell? He sang a song called “Forrest Gump,” and there was actual footage of the running scenes from Forrest Gump playing behind him, and he had a weird headband, and it looked like his yellow pants covered legs were running instead of standing behind a piano, and I just. didn’t. get. it.

Must be too avant garde for a consumer like me.

So Performance Sunday was fun. And now it is Mundane Monday. You take the good with the bad.

No more USPS snail mail on Saturdays?!? YIIPPPPEEEEEEEEEE! That’s one day less of clutter on the counters! I despise mail and no matter what systems I put in place, the mail seems to own me. So, I’ll take this small weekend victory in the ongoing war against clutter and be pleased. Mail Clutter 5 vs. Turningreen 2.

Yesterday was a day of acquisitions. Supplies for bake sale, foam board for a school project, book for a report, replacement cushions for chairs in the house. But the cushions have to be returned, and some of the baking supplies I bought turned out to be “made in a facility with peanuts and tree nuts” and a whole host of other allergens, making them unusable in our house. I hate when they label things with possible contamination by every single allergen. Clearly that’s their way of covering their asses, but what mom with a food allergic kid is going to just take that chance despite the labeling? Not this one, that’s for sure. 

Did you read the part where I said bake sale? Ho hum. I had no idea that our son’s foray into school politics would demand so many home baked goods. Last time, he baked brownies and then slathered them with gooey frosting and heavy sprinkles. They were impossible to wrap and not that attractive, either. This time, I threw some money and laziness at the problem. I bought a gigantic box of individually wrapped Rice Krispy Treats and popsicle sticks. The kids unwrapped the treats and speared them with sticks. We dipped them in some melted white candy coating and then in some entirely nut-free sprinkles, which were not quite as cute as the not-entirely-nut-free Valentine sprinkles I had acquired yesterday. But they were easy and they look festive and they are all wrapped and ready to go and the bake sale isn’t even until tomorrow. BOO-YA. Nutty Sprinkles 1 vs. Turningreen 1,000. (I’m taking some liberties here and giving extra credit for early completion.)

Have you seen that series of Target ads for their “Every Day Collection?” The ads feature women dressed in form fitting white clothing who are accomplishing basic household tasks. One of the ads shows a woman walking on a catwalk in a slinky white dress, as colorful cake mixes explode around her and she cracks an egg in her hands. According to Salon.com, these ads are designed to spotlight Target’s grocery aisles while playing on their reputation for fashion. The voice over for that ad is, “Dominate that PTA Bake Sale.” Eh, when I saw it I found the ad to be absurd. I mean, sure, things explode and egg cracking gets messy when there are kids involved. But who in their right mind would wear a white dress to bake with kids? Haha. I kid, but seriously – I find these ads to be less fashion forward and more feminist backward and insulting. And it takes a lot to get me to say anything negative about Target, because I love me some Target. Target 0 vs. Turningreen 1.

Apparently, I’m in a fighting mood. The laundry had better be afraid. Verrrry afraid.

Last night we had a tornado watch, after a day where the temperatures reached 75 degrees in January. One week earlier, the high was 32 for the day. Tomorrow, snow flurries are a possibility. I can’t keep up, and neither can my wardrobe.

Do you see frozen yogurt shops popping up everywhere where you live? It’s a good part of the whole revival of the 1980s in culture, but we are absolutely inundated here. In the artsy part of downtown, there are even 2 competing shops right next door to each other. Here in the Bubble, there are about 5 different chains in spitting distance. We have our favorite, of course, chosen because unlike one of the other popular chains, it doesn’t throw its religious agenda in our face. Plus, they have better chocolate yogurt.

It’s fun for me to see the 80s references in pop culture and fashion these days. But as our daughter wisely said the other day, “Wow. There are some things from the 80s that should just stay there. Not everything needs to come back.”

Ah, yes. Sage advice from an 11 year old.

This story would be more interesting if I could remember what 80s-inspired-faux-pas had inspired her to say that, but I can’t. I’m really tired. The wind was crazy here last night, and I couldn’t get to sleep. Then I did get to sleep and kept waking up in a panic, expecting to find the house crumbling around me. I had to ingest 3 times my normal coffee intake to get me going this morning. It turns out it was a good thing that I accidentally ordered the larger size at Starbucks. I had already had my regular morning coffee at home, but then found myself parked in front of the Starbucks around the corner when I had intended to stop for gas in the minivan. I took that as a sign that I needed to sip another coffee while I fueled up.

I just realized I forgot to stop at the gas station after that, or anytime since. I did, however, get the minivan cleaned for the first time in recent history. And it’s reallllly clean. Like sparkly clean. Like it took so long for them to clean it that I thought someone had stolen the car and left me stranded at the car wash. Like the soap they used on the outside smells so strongly in the garage that it is now masking the smells that were oozing out of the trash dumpster this morning.

So now I know for certain that they will cover the roads with salt in the morning, to fend off the 16 flakes of snow that may fall overnight.

This would be a good night to fleece up early and doze off in front of a Daily Show marathon. But instead, I’ll need to get out of my stretchy pants and head over to one of our daughter’s two potential middle schools for an Open House. Tours, teachers, neighbors, and chit chat. YAY. 

Last night I left our daughter home alone for a bit, while her brother was across the street at a friend’s house. I had been gone for about an hour and was at my last stop before returning home when I received this text:

Brother is here now. I’m not really comfortable watching him. Can he go back to his friend’s house?

HAHAHAHAHA! Uhhhh…..NO. I responded as such, and told her I’d be home in 2 minutes anyway. She wasn’t happy to hear that, either. It seems the girl was enjoying her quiet time. #solitudediva

Tonight, I left the two of them home for 5 minutes while I ran to get pizza down the street. He was supposed to be typing an e-mail assignment to his teacher at the kitchen table and she was reading a book on the couch in the family room. #normanrockwell

When I returned, she was still reading, but he was lying on his back on the carpet nearby. He had his footy pajama covered feet straight up in the air, while the iPad hovered high above his face and his body rolled from side to side.

“Mommy, when you have to go out again while I am supposed do be doing homework, do NOT leave me with her!” When I asked why, he said, “Because she was being sooooo distracting and annoying!”

Yeah, I’m sure her reading is what caused you to get up from your seat and engage in fleecy floor acrobatics. #boyelectricity

After dinner, I was busy doing a bunch of things in the kitchen and he had more homework to get done, including a spelling pretest and multiplication flash cards. I decided to put the big sister to work quizzing him. #childlabor

First was spelling, where she had to make up sentences to go along with the words. She used every opportunity to mock him, as you might imagine.

“Annoy. You annoy me, every single day.”

“Voyage. My brother took a voyage upstairs to poop.”

“Moisten. You should moisten your nasty legs with some moisturizer.”

“Embroider. My brother has no idea what it means to embroider.”

You get the gist. #educationalinsults

Next it was on to timed multiplication flash cards. A little background info – doing these flashcards with our daughter two years ago was about the most hellish after school experience I have had as a mom. It did not come easily and it was her #snottyattitude that made it so awful.

Our son is only on his 4th day of doing these and he is doing quite well. He’s more of a math whiz, she’s more of a word whiz, as you can tell from the spelling pretest. #drymomhumor

When he was given 12 x 9, he hesitated. He was calculating the answer in his head. #mentalmath

In that same scenario two years ago, she was humming tunes inside her head and deciding what form of hissy fit she was going to throw at me for making her do these stupid flashcards. #mentaltantrum

In a highly characteristic and dramatic display of impatience with her brother, she enacted a series of three lengthy, loud, fake yawns. He was so distracted that he started arguing with her about the yawning and was losing precious seconds on his timed math practice. #tigermom

I bitched, they moved on, the buzzer went off. Next thing I know, the daughter is fake crying and real laughing — it seems that her exaggerated pseudo yawn caused her to pull some muscle where her tongue and throat come together with the back of her cheeks and ears. You can’t make this stuff up, I tell you. #educationalinjury, #karma, #dangerousdrama

I was of course terribly concerned and suggested that she perform and elaborate series of movements as a treatment for her injury. #mommockery

I had her wrap her hands around her cheeks, put her wrists together, push her chin to her chest, and blow as loudly as she could. The resulting wet fart noises had her brother laughing so hard I was afraid he would pull a muscle, too. #playingtomyaudience

I finally sent her upstairs with a frozen yogurt tube to ice her wounds and leave us alone for the last portion of his homework. #torturebythirdgrade

Done. FINALLY. They are both in bed. #popthecork

I am not a fast reader, but I zipped through “This is How You Lose Her,” by Junot Diaz in less than a day. I even read it old school, off actual pages. With my reading glasses. (Because when I read on my iPad, I crank that font up so big that normal sighted aliens can probably see it from outer space. And Iranian space monkeys, too, I guess. If they can read.)

But I digress.

What I wanted to tell you, especially those of you who have read it, is that a great deal of the story takes place in a part of New Jersey with which I am quite familiar. Familiar in the sense that it is not far from where I grew up, geographically speaking. I even knew some of the roads, malls, and landfills referenced in the story. (How Jersey is that list of things?) In fact, the main character Yunior, and as a matter of fact, the author himself, went to the same high school as my cousins. I did not know any of this until I read the book. I had read “The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao,” which also features Yunior, but that story took place in other parts of NJ, further from my old stomping grounds.

So while I was familiar with the geography of Yunior’s/Diaz’s childhood….I was certainly not familiar with his experiences. I was living a pretty squeaky clean suburban cul-de-sac life, as opposed to the tough working class immigrant life detailed in the book. Of course, most of the book details his escapades with the ladies. I did actually (very briefly) date a (squeaky clean) Dominican boy in college…..but yeah, that was not at all wondrous and isn’t likely to be recounted in a book of any kind.

Anyway, I got a kick out of the parts where he mocked the “white kids from Old Bridge,” because those were my cousins. Or slightly older versions of my cousins. Eh, humor me – I found it funny.

So now I am onto “Flight Behavior,” by Barbara Kingsolver. I have loved most of her books over the years, so I have high hopes. It is also a real book with pages, and holy crow the type is small. Thank goodness for the spare reading glasses my mom gave me to leave downstairs, because I never seem to have mine in the right place at the right time. Who cares if the kids laugh at me every time they see me wearing them? They’re finally off to school again tomorrow, anyway.

They just finished up their second consecutive 3 day weekend. Well, except that last 3 day weekend was really a 4 day weekend because of the snow. Don’t worry, though, they’ll only have to get through one full week of school (next week) before they get another 3 day weekend. Whew! We don’t want them to overdo it!

The Mr. had to leave town today to tend to some family business, and will be gone most of the week. This weekend, he spent his free time cooking for us. Belgian waffle batter was made on Friday night and cooked into tastiness for Saturday morning breakfast. Saturday afternoon, he baked a tray of football shaped rolls from scratch. Saturday evening, he made us 2 varieties of crepes (mushroom/shallot and broccoli/ham/cheese) before heading out to see a movie with some friends. Now he is gone, and we still have a stack of crepes in the fridge just waiting for someone to fill and eat them. The kids had some for dessert, slathered with some pudding/whipped cream/Oreo concoction. I showed tremendous restraint and only ate the filling.

We eat well when the Mr. is in charge. But, sadly, mom is in charge the rest of the week, and there are lots of activities to keep us on the go. Leftovers tonight, pizza tomorrow. The bar has been officially lowered.

You may not know this, but my blogs are totally worth gift quantity and liveliness. 

I know it’s true, because a commenter on my blog said exactly that earlier today. Granted, he commented on an old post, but I’m pretty sure my latest entries are just as worthy of gift quantity and liveliness.

Perhaps I would know more about this mysterious commenter if I had clicked on the link attached to his comment. It had an awful lot of letter z’s in the name, along with the words “Tips and Tricks.”

I wasn’t born yesterday, so I didn’t click. And I also blocked that user, even though he had a very generic, friendly sounding username. Those bots are getting more sneaky, huh? I suppose that’s ok, as long as they keep giving out such delightful compliments.

You know what doesn’t deserve a compliment? Our kids’ phone skills. Or lack thereof. They are 9 and 11 and they really have not improved much since the days when they would answer questions during phone calls with a nod.

When Professor Sister and I were kids, our parents had high standards for phone etiquette. I remember being mortified, because all the other kids could just pick up their home phones and say, “Hello?”

We had to say, “Hello, this is Turningreen. Who is this?” 

Every. Single. Time.

It became second nature, so that it came out more like this: “HellothisisTurningreenwhoisthis?” in a sing songy voice. I thought I hated saying that more than anything in the world, until my friend who loved to copy me started saying it when she answered the phone. It turns out that hearing someone else idolize and imitate my forced dorkiness was even more distasteful.

Of course, the reason my parents had us do this was because of stranger danger. They wanted us to determine if the person on the other end of the phone was friend or foe. I get that now, as a parent, but sheesh was it dorky.

It would be pointless to have our kids answer the phone that way these days, because caller ID tells us who’s calling before we answer. Remember how wild and crazy it was to just blindly answer the phone? I suppose it doesn’t help that the Mr. and I respond to 95% of the calls to our house by not answering. That’s the whole point of caller ID, right? So you can avoid the charities and credit cards and PTA ladies looking for volunteers? When it’s family, the kids know it before they answer. When it’s an unfamiliar caller, they just hand it over to one of us so we can mute the ringer and roll our eyes in contempt for the cold callers.

So it’s on the rare occasion that they DO pick up the phone to speak to a family member, or call a friend to invite them over, that their phone skills become so painful. Recently, Professor Sister and I had the “opportunity” to hear our two sons speak to each other on the phone while on speaker. I believe Professor Sister summed it up well when she called it, “painfully awkward.” We are now encouraging texting between cousins so we don’t have to squirm with discomfort at their uncomfortable silences.

In a world of texting and email and parents who don’t answer the phone, I suppose this type of skill deficit is to be expected. Perhaps we could force the kids to practice making phone calls…..but yeah, I’m not going to do that. So if you’re reading this blog, and you someday find yourself on the phone with one of our kids…..I’m sorry.

And I truly hope that you don’t hold their awkwardness against the gift quantity worthiness and liveliness of my blog, because you shouldn’t.

Yup, I’m another year older. I feel about the same, which is good news when you’re over 40, I think.

I am feeling very loved by all the birthday attention. I received some funny cards, sweet notes from the kids, and a zillion happy making Facebook wishes from people from all the corners of my world. My phone was a buzz all day with phone calls, texts, e-mails, etc. I also got to hear all three of my nieces wish me a happy birthday – one sent a voice memo to my iPhone via her mom, the other two called to sing me a very loud rendition of the birthday song. I was also very pleased to hear that a 6 year old niece told the 4 year old niece that I am turning 21 on this birthday. So, I can totally buy you guys beer now – I’m finally legal!!

My toenails are currently a lovely deep shade of blue after a bit of pampering for the occasion. Our daughter requested I get them painted “a fun color,” so I obliged. I think it makes my toes look at least 10 years younger. It’s called “Yoga-ta Get This Color.” (I kind of want that job….naming the OPI nail polishes. Do you think they’re hiring?)

I can’t remember the last time I cooked dinner. That, my friends, is a wonderful feeling for a birthday girl. Over the long weekend, I dined on sushi at home, seafood downtown, greasy food in a diner, and tonight I shared pasta and a pizza with my man at our family dinner to celebrate mom’s big day.

We stopped on the way home from dinner to buy a cake at the bakery that is safe for our daughter. She and the Mr. ran in to pick it out. They did me right. I think it was called a dark chocolate truffle bomb cake. OH YEAH. After my first piece, I said, “I’ll have another sliver. Because it’s my birthday.”

I may have mentioned that already…..