Another birthday has come and gone. The age doesn't bother me. It's just a number. One child did said I was 16 and the other child said I was 36. The 36 number did bother me for a second or two. It was a bittersweet day though.
Late Sunday afternoon, the phone rang. It was my parent's. It took no time to realize it was the middle of the night there, so something was wrong. My grandma had died. Mom had told me last week they were putting her in hospice, but no one thought it would be anytime soon. I thought maybe it wouldn't be until we were back in the states. Sadly, no. She was the second grandparent I lost since we've been overseas and the fourth or fifth funeral I missed. That just isn't fun or fair. My parent's reassure me that everyone understands why I can't be there, but I still hate that I'm not there. The funeral was on my birthday. I won't ever have a problem remembering that.
On a lighter note, it was a good birthday. I spent the day by myself, which is rare. I ran errands, which anyone with little kids knows is a wonderful thing to do alone, went to the beach to collect shells since a jar full of mine fell off a shelf and broke the other day, then came home and got stuff done around the house. I told the husband where I wanted to go for dinner and he made a point to be home from work early so he could take me.
I picked a restaurant that is well known here and, based on their advertising, frequented by lots of Americans. It was on the fancy side for my kids, but they were extremely well behaved.
When we got home, this magically appeared from the freezer. I do love ice cream cakes. We were all so full though (we were still full when we went to bed hours later) that we decided to save it for the next night.
At this point in my life, this is the kind of birthday I want. I like gifts, (who doesn't?), but they aren't necessary. I'd rather have good time with my family.