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Herpy berfday to me! 

This morning, my husband gave me a lovely present, a bottle of Calvin Klein Euphoria. He said that they also had Endless Euphoria for sale, but that seemed like . . . a bit much. Sort of like in The Loved One, where the funeral home offers two kinds of commemorative flames: Perpetual Eternal, or just Standard Eternal.

I’m forty-one today, and just to drive the point home, I woke up to a phone call from the radiologist, who never calls just to chat. Quick version:  they found three nodules on what’s left of my thyroid. Thirteen years ago, I had a nodule on the other side, which they removed, and which turned out to be benign (and now I have an awesome scar). Even if these nodules are cancer, thyroid cancer is pretty easy to beat, and we have great insurance. And who couldn’t use another awesome scar? Also, I dreamt the ceiling was leaking, but it turns out it was just a dream. Again, I say herpy berfday to me.

Today, I’ll be on Jen Fulwiler’s radio show, then dash over to one school for one kid, then to the other school for the others, drop off one at drama, drive to the church and drop off four for catechism, bring the others home, pick up the drama kid and the catechism kids, pick up the one kid from work, and bring everyone home, and then we will have twenty minutes to eat dinner and get dressed to go to the high school Christmas concert, where we will meet my husband.

Isn’t it obnoxious when people say they’re going to give a present to themselves? Too bad! I’m giving myself the present of letting this sorry excuse for a post be my post for today. I have a handsome and loving husband, ten ridiculously great kids, a smelly, rotten van that starts up every morning, a sunny little home, a smelly, rotten, insanely loyal dog, a fulfilling job and really okay haircut. I’ve traveled forty-one times around a glorious blazing sun created by God most high, who also made me, for no good reason except out of sheer love. Happy birthday to me!

We may skip catechism, though.

 

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