Happy Birthday to me...

I'm an adult finally...I've determined the demarcation between young adult and adult is the fact that your birthday no longer becomes a day of all out celebration. For me, that age is 23. I turned it yesterday. I begrudgingly went into the day with the full knowledge that it would have one of two bleak outlooks:

1) Working late at the office due to large project at work
2) Working late on the house in order to move in Saturday

I had a little bit of both.

I started off the day a tad grumpy and physically and mentally weary...I haven't had a break in about a month. But Sean's body decided to show it more, and he started off the day lightheaded and nearly stayed home. Totally not fair, if anyone got to stay home on my birthday it should be me. But, with a little water and food, he was back to normal and off to work.

I enjoyed a little quality mom and kitty time with London, who's routine is to sprawl out on my chest and revel in some attention first thing in the morning. Nothing wakes you up like a kitty paw to the face when you start to doze off and your petting hand stalls. Then I got in the shower, where I apparently lingered a little longer than usual, because I got out merely 10 minutes before I had to leave. 15 minutes later I'm dashing out the door.

Work was busy, and my fogged mind sorted through edits all day. And when I mean all day, I missed my typical 1/2 lunch away from my desk. Instead, I wasn't able to touch food until 1:30, and even then, half of my chicken caesar wrap lay, untouched, next to my keyboard.

Luckily my editing for the day ended at 6pm, and I was able to head to the new house, after only a half hour of overtime. There, an unevenly painted wall and lots of carpet was awaiting me. Sean picked up a mac & cheese TV dinner for me (hey, what else can you do when you're between places and everything's packed?) and we got to work.

Well Happy Birthday to me...the hardwood floors beneath the carpet are in such good shape they still gleam without being washed!!! This is the only thing that has gone right the first time in this house!

A while later, Sean's mom and her friends stopped by with a petit four from a local bakery and sang Happy Birthday to me. I must have been quite a sight, the birthday girl in stained and painted sweats and tank top, hands filthy from carpet dust and raw from pulling up staples with pliers.

Next thing we know, we're finished and the clock reads 11pm. We pack up and head back to the apartment, where I walk in and see a card and a beautiful bouquet of roses from Sean, surprisingly devoid of little kitty bite marks! And I had been getting upset that he was completely unromantic and had nothing more planned for his (somewhat) new wife's birthday than waking me up with a slightly out of tune Happy Birthday song and making me slave away at the house.

He wins.