It’s my birthday. We don’t typically celebrate birthdays of adults in any special way at our house. This morning was like most other mornings with breakfast being preceded by complaints from the children on how it’s unfair that they have to get dressed before being served, followed by dawdling and not wanting to brush their teeth or get their shoes on. But the day was sunny and everyone was in a good mood so I’m going to count that as a win overall.
After taking my son to school I talked with my husband about the tire pressure issue we had with one of our tires that had popped up over the weekend. He planned to have the tire checked (he wanted to do the checking, on account of him having strong feelings about what should be done). This was fine with me because I didn’t particularly want to deal with the tire. We were pretty sure the tire was going to need to be replaced considering this was the second incident with that particular tire.
And we were right, the tire had a finishing nail in it close to the rim. The tires were close to replacement time anyways and the recommendation was to replace both back tires. So for the second time in my life I got tires for my birthday. One year, some time ago most likely more than half my life back, I got tires for my birthday. I had a Honda Accord. I loved that little silver car with grey interior. I was in college so it had to be before 1992 and I was in need of new tires. My mother and father graciously got me a new set of tires for my birthday. And I was happy. Nothing like new tires.
I know, I know, it’s not an exciting birthday present, but the day’s gifts weren’t over yet. When I got in from hanging out with my best friend at her office where she and I talked about all manner of topics given that we haven’t had a chance to catch up in a while, there were two wrapped packages on the counter from my husband. Should I wait to open them until the children got home? No, he said, they weren’t necessary for the gifts. Also, I shouldn’t expect too much, because these weren’t those types of gifts either.
The first one was an adult bib. I laughed. My husband chuckled. I am rather a mess and can make the newest of shirts dirty with only a single meal. And this bib was to protect me from myself. It was just what I needed, I told him, for when I cleaned up his messy pots and pans after dinner. The second gift was equally funny: shoe covers that were like mop material so I could clean the crumbs off the floor I regularly complained about.
When the children got home I showed them my gifts. They loved both and insisted on trying on the shoe mops so they could clean the floor for me. Hopefully they will continue that enthusiasm going forward, but somehow I doubt it.
The Big Boy Update: My son was rude this morning and turned off my song on Alexa right after I started it. He picked another song and I turned his off. I went into the kitchen to clean and had the bar stools out ready to sweep. I turned around and saw him pushing the chairs back in, trying to I think make amends by helping. He didn’t want to say he was sorry, but I think he didn’t like that he hurt my feelings.
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: My daughter is now trying to climb the door frames with only one leg and two hands. This started before the badly stubbed toe, but it may have been a good thing to practice given how much her toe is still bothering her.
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