Birthday of doom

Well, each day we wake up is a gift, right? Each day this side of the grave we should count our blessings. That's what I say. And then someone decides to kill me with cookie cake.

My husband was soooo good this year. I told him no cake and he listened. He loves me like that. And then there are my co-workers. They care about me and decide to lavish me with love via donuts and cookie cake. Well, I survived. My pants don't fit any more, but hey, that's why I saved my fat clothes, right? (It still feels wrong to complain about being fat when so many people in the world are starving.)

I actually had 4 days of birthday, which is fantastic. It is truly awesome to be loved. I got beautiful cards, including a prayer journal from a new friend at work. It really was a great week, which culminated in a so/so Mexican joint in Maryland Heights called Chihuahua's where my best pal Sheryl treated me to guacamole, super spicy salsa and...

Clapping and shouting whilst wearing a glitzy sombrero and hoping I wasn't contracting head lice. Sheryl says, "You only live once." Well, she's right.

And then there is my boss, who made me cry when he sent these...

All in all, life is good. And I was happy as a Junebug in, well, June. Until this morning when I climbed from my relaxing bath and decided to trim up the dead ends of my hair. Then my day went from great to dear-God-what-in-the-world-was-I-thinking quicker than you can say, "Did your head get stuck in the lawn mower?

to be continued...