32 Is Fine With Me

I had great plans for yesterday, plans to make it a truly perfect day. A perfect day, to me, would involve sleeping late, breakfast in bed, going to the park to play with Jay and crazy giggly girls, some quiet time sewing or reading a book, a nice dinner, a shared bottle of wine... well, the absolutely only thing I did yesterday was turn


I spent the entire weekend with the flu. The I-can't-lift-my-head kind of flu. The this-is-why-they-make-flu-shots kind of flu. It really, really sucked. The girls bopped into my sick quarantine room Sunday morning all excited asking me if I was ready to open my presents. It was pitiful, Jay practically had to help me rip the paper. But all of their gifts were so thoughtful and sweet that they really did help. The flu without gifts would suck even more.

So, after a couple of days feeling like I was one hundred and two, I am now perfectly happy to be 32. Happy and soon to be healthy, and feeling really blessed. Oh, and once I was able to get out of bed without the room spinning there was this:


pinata action and the gift of an absurdly beautiful 73 degree afternoon...

The dress was picked out today because it was "beach party" day at preschool, but it ended up being weather appropriate.