Happy Freakin' Birthday (a.k.a. It's my Pity Party, and I'll Cry if I Want to)

When one starts a blog, where does one start? Recently, our family has had some big beginnings --natural starting points for a blog: our second son, Samuel Cash, was born on March 28th, four days after his big brother, Jack, turned two (not-so-terrible, so far). But, I'd rather begin with my birthday...or lack thereof.

Our First FULL Day
Rick's sister and her family were in town, so all the guys decided to take a day and go hiking. This would be my first FULL day alone with my two boys (more later about my first HALF day--be warned there is puke involved). Speaking of vomit and other bodily fluids, our first FULL day together was okay. My good friend, Mistie, asked me earlier in the week if she could take me out for breakfast on Friday for my birthday. I cleared it with Rick; he had one meeting in the morning and one at lunch time, so if I could leave mid-morning and be back by noon, I could enjoy a child-free breakfast (what a treat!). Unfortunately, the hiking trip planned for Thursday was moved last-minute to Friday...and what happened to those meetings???

So, I packed up the two boys, picked up my friend, and the four of us headed to breakfast. Jack and Sam were very well-behaved--a great birthday gift--throughout our meal. As we prepared to leave, I picked up Jack and realized he had pooped his pants (not just ordinary poo, the big "D"). As I excused myself and Jack, I realized this royal mess was a bigger job than wipes could handle. I ended up taking off his shorts and rinsing them in the sink, only to put them back on him until we got to the car at which point he was allowed to go "nudie." End of birthday breakfast. (period)

We dropped Mistie off and headed home. The rest of the afternoon involved naps (Hallelujah!) and the good company of my neighbor friends and their kids. Like I said, pretty okay day (even with some runny poo).

That evening, the whole family was coming to our house for a birthday party (honoring the THIRTY-THREE years of my sister-in-law, Cheryl--she's so old:)--and my thirty two years) The boys had returned from hiking (smelling wonderfully of the outdoors), and my house was full with in-laws and my in-laws in-laws (does that make them outlaws?). Seriously, there were sixteen of us in the house. But where was my husband? As I ran upstairs to grab something, I heard my husband moaning from the bathroom. Are you sick? He doesn't feel well. Have you thrown up? It's just a matter of time...

Okay. OKAY. That's okay. I'm okay. Rick was not well. Sorry, Hon. Rest! I will take care of our boys and our half-dozen guests.

Thank God our guests were family. The party was a blur--there was cake, candles, adorable litttle home-made birthday hats (courtesy of my creative little neice), and cards and gifts. More memorable (unfortunately) was dinner and clean-up for my toddler, breastfeeding for my newborn, jammies and toothbrushing, good-night kisses for everyone. Jack was finally down for the night when my sister-in-law looked at me and said, "Um, was this child you handed to me done eating? Because he seems hungry." Oh, yeah, woops! I had pulled him off early to get Jack in bed. The next thing I knew, my guests were leaving! I ran out the door after them, "Thank you!" "Sorry!" "Thanks for coming!" "Sorry." I walked back in to a clean kitchen--everything in its place. Thank God for family.

Saturday my poor DH (Dear Husband) lay in bed ill and weak. It was to be my second FULL day alone with my boys as we quarantined Dad in the guest room. It was a loooooong day. I think I went to bed just after midnight. It was (technically) Sunday, April 13th as I turned out my bedside lamp--Happy Freakin' birthday.

We woke up early Sunday, my boys and me, as Dad slept in. We did check on him...well, Jackson went in and jumped on him until I could coerce him downstairs for breakfast. Within a few hours, we heard some footsteps on the stairs. Dad was up! Walking on his own two feet! We had weathered the storm, and my partner, the love of my life was vertical--once again able to relieve me, if just a little. "I didn't get you a card. Or a gift." That's okay, Hon. You were busy.

The next day, after I had complained over and over to anyone who would listen about my rotten birthday weekend, my DH came home with two cards. One said simply, "Sorry your birthday sucked." I looked at Rick with tears in my ears, and said, "It did suck." And then I gave him a big hug.

I am blessed to have such good friends and family who joined my pity party and eventually helped me realize a wonderful, belated birthday. In the week that followed: Rick took me out to dinner with our neighbors, Mistie and I were able to enjoy another breakfast (without poopy kids), my friend Angie took me to lunch and then out for a massage, and my friend Charlotte got me a gift card for a pedicure! Maybe 32 won't be so bad after all...