37

I always wondered how people could be unsure about how old they are, but now at 37 (pretty sure that's right), I am starting to get it.  Number one--there are just too many other things to think about.  Number two--the number is really starting to get big.  Number three--one more year isn't really making much difference anymore (I mean it's not like I get a new privilege for getting older any time soon).

So my age is forgettable, but my birthday was not.  It was last Monday, and my good husband and sweet son made it very special.  I had to work, of course, but I woke up to balloons hanging above my head (a favorite Macy tradition).  Then, when I got home from work, I found a transformed house: all the clutter was put away, the floors were vacuumed, the bathroom was clean, the dining room table "pile" had disappeared and in its place was this:

 

Home-baked cupcakes, wine and presents.

John had also surprised me by inviting over a few local friends (and their kiddos--Oscar's age) to share in the cupcakes and wine.  After they left we ordered some food from Pataya Thai, and I felt perfectly celebrated.  This birthday will go down as one of my best, however old I now am.