A Hot Mess of a Birthday. (And not in the 'good' hot mess kinda way)

The morning of my birthday dawned.  I was officially 34.  Meh.  Age ain't nothin' but a number.

I slept in (until 7:45) and finally decided to drag myself out of bed to the smell of brewing coffee.

I could hear the sounds of my husband clanging around in the kitchen.  Birthday waffles.  Mmmm.

Now before this post gets all Norman Rockwell I will now assure you that it all went downhill from there.

First world problems people.  First world problems.

But still.

As I sat to enjoy my delicious birthday waffles my little one was still feeling like crap due to cold.  He is clearly all male when it comes to the common cold and proceeded to cling to me like fifth limb, cry, whine, cry, cough-cough, cry, whine, s n e e z e, crycrycry, as I attempted to enjoy my waffles. With fresh strawberries.  And whipped cream.

Sprinkled with germs.

"Happy Birthday honey.  Click!" my husband said sarcastically pretending to take a picture, as my little one sat crying in my lap making it next to impossible to feast upon my germ ridden waffles.

We smiled a bit defeatedly at each other.

Such is life as a parent.

After I posted my birth story told by my Mum, I announced to my husband that I'm getting the h.e. double hockey sticks outta the house and hi, ho, hi, ho it was off to shop I go.

I ran out on my crying, snotty kids and didn't look back.

Because it was my birthday and my husband just returned from eight days of travelling, I felt more than entitled to run and run fast!

As I perused the quaint downtown storefronts, I saw couples in the windows of lovely restaurants having lunch together.  A moment came when I abruptly felt wistful and weepy for those days.  Sipping wine over a leisurely afternoon lunch, having great conversation with my husband.  I really, really miss those days.

And then I saw a really awesome clothing store and felt happy again.

Then I spent too much of my husband's hard earned money and felt anxious.

Then I realized how little I shop for myself and when I do it's always either previously owned or dirt cheap...and I felt a little bit better.

And then I realized I bought skinny jeans.  Skinny jeans guys!  These legs have no right to be in skinny jeans.

And then I said....aw feck it.  I love them.

I drove home singing Adele and Pink at the TOP OF MY LUNGS.

Because that's the only way to sing in the car.  And if you've never done it you'd best be starting.  It's inexplicably freeing.

I was feeling buoyant and carefree as I walked into my house that smelled...quite delicious.  Yet the smell of the house and the tone of it did not match.

My husband had the look.

"You okay babe?

"It's just a day honey.  Just a day." He said with a sigh. (I knew that he wasn't referring to my birthday being just a day - he was trying to talk himself out of complaining to me about how insane the boys were driving him.  And I got it.  I completely did.  I respected the fact that he didn't want to bring my mood down.)

He proceeded to take out a cake from the oven and tried to place it on a pan by turning it upside down and shaking it.

"Uh honey?  It's falling apart.  Totally falling apart."

I saw chunks of chocolate cake breaking apart and falling onto the cake pan.

Plop.  Plop.  Crash.  Plop.  Smoosh.

It was quite literally a hot mess.

He left the kitchen.  And I got that too.

The poor man.  He was trying SO HARD to make my birthday awesome.

The day went on like this.  A comedy of errors my husband likes to call it.

At one point I cried to my children as they continued to wreak havoc on our nerves, "Don't you know it's my birthday today?!!!  You're supposed to behave, be good, be nice to Mummy!"

It all fell on deaf ears.

I stole a moment away from my evil energetic spawn to check facebook.

You all do it on your birthday and you know it.  

Yes.  I admit.  I wanted to see how many people truly loved me by wishing me a Happy Birthday on my wall.

I was feeling the love.

And then I saw a message.  From a former friend.  The demise of our friendship occurred about 5 years ago.  She wasn't just a friend.  She was my best friend since we were 13 years old.  The event that occurred that caused us not to speak in almost 5 years was quite lame.  Her words in the message brought tears to my eyes and a flood of memories to my mind.  I had missed our friendship more than I let myself admit.  And so I messaged her back.  Who knows where our friendship will go from here but it felt good to reconnect.  Really good.

It was almost dinner and I had ordered Indian take out.

It.was.the.worst.meal.EVER.

Mess with my food?  And I get all kinds of bitter.  I truly believe if the food would've been good it could've erased the crapfest that was my birthday to that point.  I know it's just food.  But I felt like crying.

And I kept saying to myself...first world problems January.  First. World. Problems.

But somehow this just didn't make me feel much better.

The only thing to look forward to at that point was the boys' bedtime.  And the Bachelor.  And the rest of my wine.

So.  There was that.

Happy Birthday to me!

Oh yeah - my husband somehow rehabilitated the hot mess of a cake and
decorated it with sprinkles and Smarties.  He rules.
What I see?  Me with a fake smile and psychotic-ess look in my eyes and my boys
not caring a bit that they put that look there.  They just wanna eat cake.

Now that's better.
Much more Norman Rockwell-esque.
Amazing what photoshop can do.

lovelinks#40

Check out some awesome writing over at lovelinks!  Then return on Thursday if you're feeling so inclined and vote for 3 of your favourites.  (It would be oh so kind if you voted for me.  No pressure.)