Hey Shorty, It’s Your Birthday.

Yesterday was my birthday.

I’m 33.


My mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and nephew are in town from PA.  J took the day off yesterday, and so I got to sleep in; attend a Mom’s League meeting sans kids; go for a solo run in the gorgeous Texas weather; eat my beloved ice cream cake; and even have a glorious, unheard of date with my husband (special shout-out to the fam for taking care of three babes under three for the night).  And J got me a real, 14-cup Cuisinart!  I’m so tired of the 2.5-cup version we thought would be sufficient back when we first wed and I ate three jars of Nutella per week.  I can’t wait to bust out this bad boy.

Before A’s birth, I told J that all I wanted afterwards was to go out for oysters and martinis.  And so we journeyed to a fancy seafood restaurant, in which we ate the most glorious oysters and mussels, and I drank my absolute fave: a slightly dirty Grey Goose.  We decided not to eat a full meal there; instead choosing to head to our favorite sushi joint down the road.  We also took a long walk around the Town Square, pretending it was 2006 and we were meandering through SoHo.

We were still home by 8:30, but we felt positively indulgent and giddy.


On my afternoon run yesterday, I thought about my intentions for my 33rd year.  I want to continue to focus on our health and wellness; but I also want to remember the other person.  I find that I have a tendency to hyper-focus on the things going on in my realm, so I often forget to mail the birthday card; send the thoughtful email; respond to the text; or just PICK UP THE PHONE.  I want to be more present for the people I love this year.

But oh you guys: THIRTY-THREE.  My thirties are positively fabulous thus far; but could they slow down, pretty please?


2 thoughts on “Hey Shorty, It’s Your Birthday.

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