34

So yesterday was my birthday. That means I've made thirty-four trips around the sun and I'm starting on another. And I totally planned on blogging yesterday to share it with you. Really, I did. I had the blog half written in the scratch workspace that is my brain.

I was going to blog a little about being older, about how that's okay, about how my thirties are pretty awesome thus far.

But mostly I was going to talk about simplicity. About how I don't want for much in this life as it is.

This year I requested a birthday breakfast of my awesome husband's particularly awesome chorizo and eggs. I wanted to go to the park with my kid, I wanted spinach pizza and a beer for dinner, and I wanted to watch Ferris Bueller's Day Off. (Bueller? Bueller?) And I asked my husband to show me how to juggle. (That's not a euphemism for anything weird or untoward; I really want to learn to juggle. It looks like fun.)

That's all.

I was going to write a nice eloquent little piece on making the day count, without counting the spoils of the day. You would have loved it, really.

But then, at some point after I finished my pizza and before Ferris and Cameron checked the mileage on the car, my husband gave me, along with a set of juggling balls... an iPad.

And I forgot about you altogether. Completely out of my head. I spend hours playing with my new, very pretty, shiny toy.

Sorry.

Sort of.

Not really.

(Squee!)