this is 35
Six brought an outdoor birthday party and my first TV for my room.
Ten brought a Dodgers baseball game, where my mom caught a ball; and then Disneyland.
Sixteen brought dinner with friends at a Mexican restaurant, where I was embarrassed by a dancing gorilla serenading me, and I was surprised with a limo ride when we left.
Twenty-one brought...a lot of alcohol and a lot of misery, the following day. Lol.
Thirty brought studying for law school final exams, and a good friend with balloons.
And now.
Now it's 35.
And this is what 35 has brought me...
Exorcist-style pukes, from the tiniest Jeter, all night long--the last time, she screamed, "I forgot about the puke bowl!!" while she puked...all over everything else.
It brought Tom and I lovingly admiring one another for handling the first puke with patience and grace, not getting frustrated with one another, and working as a team.
It brought short tempers by the third puke, as Tom and I basically forgot all about our patience and grace, and spent a good 20 minutes being frustrated with one another, and failing to work together at all.
Divorce may have been mentioned.
It brought a really scary 2.5-hour drive to Denver for a doctor's appointment with my Rheumatologist. The roads were very icy, and many of the drivers were very stupid.
It brought breakfast with my dad, and my uncle.
It brought news, over breakfast, that my dad's PET scan from that morning revealed less than stellar news.
Spread to his liver. Spread to his hip. Stopping the chemo. Alternative options.
I mean, 35 was off to a great freaking start.
It brought me back home, to hang out with my parents and my uncle for a little while longer. Two hours of talking, opening gifts, laughing.
I needed that.
Then, 35 brought my drive back to Silverthorne. I am fairly convinced that God was in control for the entire ride from the Eisenhower Tunnel, and on. I think He figured I had all I could handle for one day.
He was probably right.
The semi behind me jack-knifed.
The semi next to me jack-knifed.
I was practically in tears by the time I finally got home.
It brought me to a husband who had cleaned the entire house, and baked a cake for my birthday.
It brought me homemade cards from the kids.
It brought me a homemade meal from my husband.
It brought me an Amazon Dot, that Charlotte keeps asking to play "All About That Bass," by Meghan Trainor.
It brought me a conversation with a prospective bride, who has decided to book me for her October wedding.
Now it's 6:42pm and the day is almost over.
I kind of want the day to be over.
I know birthdays aren't guaranteed to be fun or good, just because they are your birthday.
But I am definitely disappointed.
I feel guilty being disappointed, though.
I have the most amazing kids, and the most amazing family. They all tried really hard to make this day special. And it was.
It was just over-shadowed by news that I worry will constantly hang over me--and us--like a cloud. A really dark fucking cloud.
Ten brought a Dodgers baseball game, where my mom caught a ball; and then Disneyland.
Sixteen brought dinner with friends at a Mexican restaurant, where I was embarrassed by a dancing gorilla serenading me, and I was surprised with a limo ride when we left.
Twenty-one brought...a lot of alcohol and a lot of misery, the following day. Lol.
Thirty brought studying for law school final exams, and a good friend with balloons.
And now.
Now it's 35.
And this is what 35 has brought me...
Exorcist-style pukes, from the tiniest Jeter, all night long--the last time, she screamed, "I forgot about the puke bowl!!" while she puked...all over everything else.
It brought Tom and I lovingly admiring one another for handling the first puke with patience and grace, not getting frustrated with one another, and working as a team.
It brought short tempers by the third puke, as Tom and I basically forgot all about our patience and grace, and spent a good 20 minutes being frustrated with one another, and failing to work together at all.
Divorce may have been mentioned.
It brought a really scary 2.5-hour drive to Denver for a doctor's appointment with my Rheumatologist. The roads were very icy, and many of the drivers were very stupid.
It brought breakfast with my dad, and my uncle.
It brought news, over breakfast, that my dad's PET scan from that morning revealed less than stellar news.
Spread to his liver. Spread to his hip. Stopping the chemo. Alternative options.
I mean, 35 was off to a great freaking start.
It brought me back home, to hang out with my parents and my uncle for a little while longer. Two hours of talking, opening gifts, laughing.
I needed that.
Then, 35 brought my drive back to Silverthorne. I am fairly convinced that God was in control for the entire ride from the Eisenhower Tunnel, and on. I think He figured I had all I could handle for one day.
He was probably right.
The semi behind me jack-knifed.
The semi next to me jack-knifed.
I was practically in tears by the time I finally got home.
It brought me to a husband who had cleaned the entire house, and baked a cake for my birthday.
It brought me homemade cards from the kids.
It brought me a homemade meal from my husband.
It brought me an Amazon Dot, that Charlotte keeps asking to play "All About That Bass," by Meghan Trainor.
It brought me a conversation with a prospective bride, who has decided to book me for her October wedding.
Now it's 6:42pm and the day is almost over.
I kind of want the day to be over.
I know birthdays aren't guaranteed to be fun or good, just because they are your birthday.
But I am definitely disappointed.
I feel guilty being disappointed, though.
I have the most amazing kids, and the most amazing family. They all tried really hard to make this day special. And it was.
It was just over-shadowed by news that I worry will constantly hang over me--and us--like a cloud. A really dark fucking cloud.
Katie, you are a remarkable woman, with an extraordinary gift in writing. Your stories, at the very least, are positively engaging. In one moment you have me laughing, then a split second later you have me crying. I love your ability to leave out what some might construe as the "mind-boggling fluff" of a story, while remaining successful in conveying your heartfelt thoughts with merely a few, yet all-embracing words. Your style is unique and entertaining. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for sharing your amazing gift with all of us who yearn to read it!
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