I had a birthday a couple of weeks ago. It seems like I have one every year now, and it seems like my birthdays are closer together than they used to be.
This year, I turned forty-eight, which means I can't get away with calling myself mid-forties anymore. That ship sailed at forty-seven.
I spent my actual birthday at the theater (of course), running projections for MTI's production of The Prince of Egypt.
That morning, I went on my first summer break trail run.
On a side note, a woman in her sixties was running (not walking) the trails, and I thought, "Oh good! I have a few years left in me."
Then I stopped at Starbucks for a free birthday drink.
After I returned from the theater that evening, my husband, Dan, surprised me with a strawberry cake.
I had been telling him for several years about my Aunt Alice's strawberry cake recipe, and how my mother would often make it, at my request, for my birthday.
Dan's version was a from a box. Honestly, if I baked one for myself it would be from a box too.
As far as gifts go, I received a mini greenhouse for my house plants. Now I don't have to use the kitchen table for all of my plants. (I can't guarantee that the kitchen table is completely cleared though. I have A LOT of house plants.)
I also got a new Weezer shirt. For those of you who don't know me at all, I'm a ride-or-die Weezer fan!
Another fun fact, I have been working on my Sally O'Malley impression since I turned forty.
"Are you going to do this for the next ten years?" Dan asked, as I "kicked and stretched" through the first year of my forties.
"Um, yeah. It's the reason I'm looking forward to my fifties!"
Guess what? Only two more years . . .
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