Somewhere About This Time

I decided existence might be interesting. (Well, a couple of decades ago of somewhere about this time, if we must be accurate).

And, somewhere close to this date, my family and friends proved me right.

So thanks, all, for seriously dark dark chocolate

for rising to the challenge of sending me one rose for every year I'd been alive and for sending them to me at work,

(Seriously wondered how you were going to do that, J. By the time you add my years, it would've have been freaky expensive.)

for mini-cupcakes,

free munchies,

free lunchies (that's my co-worker in crime and our leading henchlady boss),

and cards and happy birthdays sung at me and even emails from the students I've pestered endlessly about missed meetings.

And thanks to a sister and mum (well, and bro-in-laws and dads, too) who demanded that money spent be splurged on myself, allowing me to get fiction and non-fiction books (the Stephen King bought in honor of the long tradition my sis had of buying me one every year until he changed his publishing schedule--thank goodness he changed it back or it wouldn't have felt like a proper birthday),

a COOL sock knitting book,

and nifty embroidery stand and equally nifty dogwood-patterned pillowcases to embroider, which weirdly matched a dogwood-patterned throw I had received before moving to Minnesota, and which had been boxed up for so long that I only remembered it when I unpacked after moving back.

(Actually, the embroidery stand is nothing but trouble. There it sits, calling to me, when it knows darn good and well that I am buried under Christmas crochet and knitting projects. Why do I always get the urge to embroider in November?? Why can't the urge hit in July for once?)

And most of all, thanks to my Things, who woke early to pan fry my English muffins

so they would be warm and crispy, rather than toaster dry,

(I mean, c'mon, you didn't expect me to pause to take a picture of them, did you? They would have gotten cold with as long as it takes me to get an even slightly unembarrassingly bad picture.)

a group-drawn story of a puppy and his yarn ball,

and, with the help of a sneaky friend who was tall enough to have plastic which allowed for the magic of online ordering (coughjedediahcough) this completely cool, completely imaginative book, which, while mostly knitting, also has some crochet.

(Now I have to knit a garden for someone this summer. Seriously.)

And last but not least, for a Thing-decorated cake that had so many sprinkles on the top that the knife made rasping sounds when I cut the cake.

Everyone who moans about turning 40? You are all so wrong. As Thing 3 says (every year, in fact) "This was the best birthday ever."

And it was. I can't remember such a happy birthday in a long, long time.

Thanks and love, everyone.