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Kira has threatened me with bodily harm if I do not share that today is my birthday. So hey! Guess what! Today! is! my! birthday!

I am not so much a fan of the whole birthday thing. There is no traumatic birthday-related drama in my past, or anything. Maybe it goes back to the unfairness of how us summer birthday kids never got to bring cupcakes to school. I don’t know. It’s not a big deal. Birthdays just tend to make me a wee bit melancholy.

So, I got up this morning and opened my presents from the kids. My ex struggled as a gift-giver even when we still liked each other; now that we’ve split things have not improved. (Remember the toaster?) The children gave me a locket in which I can put their pictures. I’ll have to do it, of course, because it did not occur to the ex to actually put pictures in there. I’m having flashbacks to the year he and Chickadeee gave me the stepping-stone kit. Anyway, I could find some teensy weensy pictures of my kids, I guess. Except the necklace? Is a piece of junk. I fully expect it to break the next time I pick it up. Their other gift was the 5th Harry Potter book, which I did actually want (although the ex took the previous four, so now I own just the one).

Then the kids helped me to rip open a box from my mother. It contained–among other things–a gorgeous pair of earrings. It’s hard to be glum when your earlobes are sparkly. That’s a fact. La la la!

We will be heading home to be spoiled by my dad and stepmom this weekend. (I could say that’s my favorite part of my birthday, but then, inevitably, someone would be offended; so let’s just say I’m looking forward to it whole bunches.)

Now, I am trying to eat breakfast and the kids want to know when are we baking caaaaaaaaaaaaaake??? So I guess in a little bit, here, we’ll be baking me a cake. Monkey magnaminously offered up the rocketship pan I used for his last birthday cake. Hee.

Tonight we will have friends over for a gala celebration event. There will be pizza. And cake. Woot. Our children will run around like small maniacs while my friend tries to convince me that this year will be marvelous… or at least, much better in comparison to the crappy year I’ve just had. Or maybe we’ll just resort to the old “when child X is this age I’ll be age Y” sort of thing. You never can tell, with us. We’re wild.

Here’s to 33. May it be… less sucky.