Today’s my birthday. I will get back to writing about writing in the next couple of days, but today I get to drink coffee, eat whatever I want, and open presents. My favorite thus far is from Christopher: a doll with pins to shove into it, part of a coping-with-stress kit (“An anger management program you can really stick with!”)
I thought I might post just a few old photos today, since I’m 39 (for real) and it seems like a good day to mull over the past. If you’re interested, scroll down and watch the children multiply while my hair grows shorter.
And then we added Emily. I’m not in this picture, but I’m posting it because it’s my favorite. She’s about three here; she put baby carrots in a sock, tied it closed, and carried it around for days. No, we don’t know why.
That’s it for the self-indulgent photos. Except for this one: the birthday man, responsible for the fact that I get to have a wonderful day. (Also responsible for most of the presents, if Emily’s “I didn’t know I got you that!” upon my unwrapping her present is any indicator.)