March is a kind of dreary month in which to be born.
It’s still cold but not cold enough to snow. It’s almost Spring but not quite yet.
It was my birthday weekend…and it rained…
the whole weekend.
The only way to handle the dreariness is to party hardy. And so I did.
First, Clare woke me up at 5:30 so that I could make sticky buns for a happy birthday breakfast. My brother later admitted to me that he was going to set his alarm to wake up and call me at 3 AM, the hour he thought I was born, but forgot. “Good thing.” I told him, “Cause I was born at 10:30 PM.”
“Still would have been funny.” he said.
I got a couple strikes. I hate to brag. More on that later.
Next, We had Andrew and my whole families over for a huge party at our house and by huge I mean crowded. 15 people in our house was a stretch but cozy and fun. Andrew made chili and a pink cake. (I always have a pink cake. What?! I’m the only girl. Deal.) Both were delicious.
He killed all the cobras in my coat closet. Didn’t even know I had any.
Then today we traveled north to visit with Andrew’s family. Clare only cried at mostly everyone.
The above picture is Clare and Andrew “getting ready to go” while I brush my teeth. Gotta document.
But she eventually warmed up and even petted Winston, who again wanted to know why the bald rodent was crying.
It was a most joyful birthday. Who has a three day celebration for their birthday?