belated birthday

There is a lot of belated going on around here, but the one I choose to report on now is my belated birthday, from last week when I went and turned thirty-six.

Prior to this birthday, there were many things transpiring. In the month of August, The David and I bought a house and we also got married. Which means that we had also recently spent a lot of time looking at houses, making offers, getting approved by banks, followed by packing up and moving and then living out of boxes, and clearing out an apartment that I’d lived in for 9 years. Plus the getting married!  I’m not going to list all of the things that went into planning a wedding in our four month long engagement, because I choose not to go back into that scary head place. Later. I will talk more about it later.

Suffice it to say, we planned to take a week off of work after the wedding, but knew that it was going to full of out-of-town visitors and unpacking boxes and putting up towel racks. It was nice, of course, to have the time off, but it was not a honeymoon of romance and relaxation and recovery.

But through it all, I had this far off knowing:  my company gives us a PTO day for our birthdays, so on Tuesday, September 24, I would have this random day off, all to myself.

That day happened and it was perfect.

The David knew of my wishes to spend the day lollygagging in bed with books and cats, so he (in a move that has totally sold me on this whole husband concept) prepped for my day by stocking up on snacks and my favorite Trader Joe’s lunch, chilling a bottle of vodka in the freezer, laundering all of the bedding, getting fresh flowers, and buying a stopper and a bath bomb for the bathtub.

So I woke up and The David brought me my green smoothie in bed for breakfast. This happens every day and is non-birthday specific. I know, I got a good one.

But then, I proceeded to not get out of bed. I cozied up with a novel and one of my fur babies.

I ate a bag of cheddar popcorn, still in bed, and finished my book.

I managed to get up out of bed and went for a massage, which was glorious. Followed by a pedicure, which was grossly overdue.

Then I came home, got back into bed and started a new novel, loving on a new cat.

Then I got up, and watched an episode of America’s Next Top Model, which now has boy models in it, but is otherwise still fantastically awful.

And then I made myself a cocktail! In a copper mug! (Vodka, ginger beer, and lime juice.)
I sat outside supping on my drink and reading my book and listing to my sweet sweet booger cats yowling at me from the door.

The David came home with takeout from Homeroom, the macaroni and cheese restaurant down the street. We sat outside and started a fire in our new fire pit, drank Moscow Mules, and ate our macaroni and cheese.

I took a bath (not pictured) and went to bed.

And it was the best.