I celebrated my 33^rd birthday today.

I baked at 93 degrees for 6.5 hours. I killed 12 wasps and one very confused bee in a nest under the diving board. I listened to the “Flock of Seagulls” channel on Pandora. I felt warmth, literal warmth, on my face when I bent over to blow out the candles on the homemade Mississippi Mud cake that my mother so lovingly made for me. I got dressed up and wore liquid foundation under my powder. I opened a beautiful typewriter necklace that my daughter purchased off Etsy (all by herself). I ate Fettuccini Alfredo until I appeared to be 42 weeks pregnant with a food baby. My husband and I sang duets in his truck with the windows rolled down, and then in true cheesy romantic comedy fashion, we held hands. We went on a family walk around our neighborhood as the sun set. I watched 2 episodes of “Desperate Housewives” on Netflix. And ½ an episode of “Murder, She Wrote”. I thanked God for my family and the countless blessings in my life.

Thirty-three is alright by me.

Birthday