Breathing again.

Okay. Confession time.
I have pre-traumatic-birthday-disorder.
It's true. I suffer from it. Every year.
It is something I try hard to ignore and just get through. The emotions, I mean. Let's just say it stems from a combination of things. This year wasn't the worst. I was fairly successful in faking it through the week leading up to and the day of.

The week started with a nice dinner at sister-in-town's house. Oldest sister was driving through town. So we gathered to celebrate three birthdays...mine, oldest sister's, and nephew's birthdays. I received two lovely gifts that night.

The day was gorgeous yesterday. My birthday. Mr. Macho did remember to wish me a happy birthday as soon as he woke up. That was good. It started the day out nice and softly for me. All three of my children called early to wish me a happy day. That was the best.

Mr. Macho needed to work. On a Saturday. I had planned to fill my day with things to do so I wouldn't dwell on being alone. I made a batch of Belgian waffles that filled the house with the most delicious cinnamon aroma. I took a long walk. My sister-in-law unexpectedly arrived with a lovely gift and stayed for a good visit. I had calls from some of my siblings. My mom remembered to call mid-day! Bless her heart. I got 2/3 of the bathrooms scrubbed and washed and folded two loads of clothes.

Mr. Macho got home around his usual get-home time. We watched a little football. Then we showered and went out for the loveliest meal at my favorite restaurant in town. It was a cold night and I suggested we window shop downtown. That didn't last long. I got cold fast. I'm getting older, you know.

I am another number now. Facing a bigger number next year. I am breathing. Whew.

Peace on earth. Good will to all.