What Day Is It?

Today I...

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Shaved my legs.

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Checked my facebook messages like a zillion times (love instant gratification).

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I bought myself this sexy little number:

. ($10 for the shirt and $1 for the slacks at a thrift store. Woohoo!)

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I made myself this really long necklace:

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and I almost ate this for breakfast:

.But I'm being a good girl and waiting till later tonight.

Or will I? Because I don't have to, you know. I could totally eat this whole thing right now and just make a cake from a box and no one could say anything about it because...

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IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!

Your Genes, Your Fault

Mom, I know I'm an awful daughter when it comes to your birthday, Mother's day, your anniversaries, or when you are sick in bed. Luckily you live close to the better children who honor you the way you deserve. I used to feel such shame every year as I missed each card-worthy event, but this year I've decided that it isn't my fault. I'm convinced my inabilities are genetic and therefore your (or dad's) fault. Yup! So, shaaaaame on you for making me forget to put your card in the mail again this year! Shame, shame, shame. Next time try to get the genetic code right so you don't create another forgetful me, ok?

Happy late Birthday, Mamasita!

Here is a well rehearsed, well coreographed, and definitely well dressed birthday message from your babies. The best part of this clip is that you have to watch it 4 times to see every child's personal rendition of this timeless classic.

And here is a little present from Cheeks. See, you can bottle up baby laughter and listen whenever you want.

Tueday Bertday

For a girl who has been talking non stop about her Birthday since Friday, and in great detail, she sure ahd a hard time talking about it that day.

Sweet Terror is such a poser it was hard to get a picture of her with her face normal. (Jenni, can you guess where we are eating? Can you guess what I ordered. That's payback for ordering Bambinos while on the phone with me!)

We tried to find a McDonalds as Sweet Terror requested, but it just wasn't there. Really, you can ask the kids, I drove all around looking for it, but it wasn't there. We just happened to be lucky that the very delicious Bahama Breeze was nearby with my favorite Roasted Vegetable and Portobello sandwich. I like that kind of luck.

Goofy Kids (Jenni, notice that luscious tomato Cuban Bread in the corner. Yeah, it was good, real good.)

Goofy Girl had to have a napkin tied around her neck, even though her shirt was already covered in mac-n-cheese.

We tried for take 2 on the birthday discussion but didn't get much better. Then I had to turn the camera off to save poor Cheeks from all the hands. (Candace, don't you love how Ian keeps whispering in her ear?)

Custom Kid's Cake

Over at one of my favorite craft blogs, The Crafty Crow, I've seen lots of crafts where you use your child's artwork to make something fun. I love that idea and decided to try it on cake. Monster Man drew me a picture of what he wanted his cake to look like (pardon the dirt, he carried this precious drawing around with him all day), and then I did my best to copy it on his cake.

The sky, grass, and clouds are colored cool whip. The sun and number 6 are frosting, and the castle and guards are made out of rolled and cut Starburst Candies (I'm too lazy to make fondant).

The best part of this was Monster Man feeling so very important in the creation and end result. And what kind of cake did he ask for? Cheesecake. Isn't he just absolutely perfect??? Now I'm off to sneak myself some leftover cake for breakfast. Shhhhhhh.

Despair In the Delivery Room

My first mistake was drinking old caster oil. I drank it on a Tuesday and was sure I would have a baby in my arms by Wednesday; but when Thursday came without a baby I was miserable. The bottle was almost 3 1/2 years old (last used to bring Sweet Terror into the world) but the expiration date said good 'till April of 2009. My first clue should have been the taste. Caster oil is supposed to be tasteless as well as odorless. This had a taste. It tasted like liquid Barbie Doll plastic. Luckily Cookie pointed out the tasteless part of the label so I sent Mr. Hot to get me a fresh bottle. This time it was tasteless. I drank it Friday morning and had Cheeks Friday night. ALWAYS use fresh oil!

My second mistake was over confidence. It is a mistake I make all too often in life. Like when playing Rummikub. If I brag about how I win EVERY time (and really, I do) before a game I inevitably loose and am forced to eat crow. But, if I quietly sit and play I beat the ever lovin' pants off everybody who dares challenge me and I laugh in my glory. Well I've been bragging for the past month about how I was going to drink some caster oil and slip this baby right out in a matter of minutes. Oh yeah, 'cause I'm a total baby making machine (as one woman so sweetly called me. Take note people, pregnant women do NOT like being called baby making machines!). I should know by now not to brag.

Third mistake was having high expectations. Sweet Terror slid out just 1 1/2 hours after arriving at the hospital (that was after caster oil and my water broke) and Pablo came rushing out with just one push a couple hours after they broke my water for me. So there I was, belly full of caster oil, after a day full of walking (yard saling and then a picnic at the beach), and then the doctor broke my water... I figured at that point the baby should just be wrapped and hand delivered to me upon request. Well, he wasn't.

I'll get to my fourth mistake in a minute. Really the only thing I did right was to ask my mom to take the kids to the neighbor's house so she could be in the delivery room with me. I shudder to think what would have happened if she hadn't been there to shut me up. It went like this (if you want to just skip to the part where I go crazy start at 7-8 pm):

10am: I'm feeling contractions quite regularly, but they aren't too painful. I don't say anything to mom because I don't want to jinx anything. By noon I let her in on it and tell her that these feel like downward pushing contractions, and that is good. We carry on with our day, and the contractions keep coming.

3pm: I call Mr. Hotness and tell him to be on standby because I may need him to come home early. I take a shower as the contractions increase in intensity. Realizing that traffic is unpredictable I call Mr. Hot again to tell him he better just come now, but I needn't have bothered because he was already half way home. The plan was for mom to stay with the kids while I delivered but I suddenly felt a deep need to have her there, so we called my neighbor and she was sweet enough to watch my zoo for the rest of the day. THANK YOU DeDe!

4:50pm: Enter hospital and fill out paper work while contracting. I was really wishing my water would break right there at the front desk as payback for such a ridiculous procedure. I would have loved to say, "Would you catch my baby for me while I sign this last one? Thanks ever so much." But no dice. Then we get in the elevator where a nice doctor tries to make small talk with me while I contract. Sorry, doctor, but NOT. RIGHT. NOW!!!!

5pm: The usual pain of having blood drawn, getting hooked to an I.V., filling out more paper work, having them take all sorts of vitals, wishing I was just giving birth in a rice patty so I could forgo all this stuff and have my baby in peace. At this point I am still being "such a trooper." I am breathing right, I am focused, I am mentally and physically welcoming the surges of pain, accepting them and allowing them to course through my body, knowing they are going to help me bring this child into the world. My mom keeps telling me I'm doing such a good job, and I agree. I am so amazing.

6-8pm: Mistake #4. I start pushing. I should know better than to push, pushing only gets me into trouble. I know there is literature out there somewhere about not pushing in labor, that the body will push by itself when it is ready, but I can't seem to find it online (and I am desperate to get this posted). And I'm not preaching this to anyone, I just know it as a fact with my body. Pushing just makes things worse. But I was busy thinking about Cookie's delivery and how I had started pushing without knowing it and how fast she came after that, so I decided to start pushing. After a long time pushing and still no baby I figured it was the water sack holding me back so I had them break it for me. Ok, I drank the oil, I started pushing, my water was broken, HERE COMES BABY... right? Where is the baby? WHERE IS THE BABY?!?!?!? I've never been a patient person, ever. Suddenly I start to feel despair. This isn't new, I've felt this before in the delivery room, that feeling of "I can't do this anymore." But I've never felt it quite like this. I lost it people. I royally lost it. I was possessed and started demanding, pleading, begging, and threatening. I wanted an epidural, but was told that they take 40 minutes from start to finish to take effect, that I would have to be sitting up while contracting during the installation, that I would probably have the baby by the time it took effect anyway, and then my mom reminded me about my intense fear of needles (thanks a lot mom). But I just knew this baby was never ever ever going to come out. It was taking forever. THEN GET ME A C-SECTION. STOP LAUGHING, I'M SERIOUS!!! CUT ME OPEN AND TAKE THIS BABY OUT OF ME. My mom tried to tell me that you couldn't just choose to have a c-section, but I could see in the nurses eyes that that wasn't true and I had read news articles about c-sections now being optional. GIVE ME A C-SECTION, STOP THIS PAIN, I'VE BEEN THROUGH THIS TOO MANY TIMES. I CAN'T DO IT ANYMORE. IT ISN'T FAIR. I grab Mr. Hotness by the collar of his shirt and beg. I beg without any pride. I tell him that there is no way I will be able to love the baby if I have to endure anymore pain. I was seriously worried that the memory of the pain would make me hate the baby. Mr. Hotness started to cry, it hurt him to see me in so much pain. WHERE IS MY C-SECTION???? Many awful things came pouring out of my mouth at this time (though I'm proud to say I didn't swear). Then my mom tells me that to do a c-section they still have to do a spinal block which still involves time and needles. What??? I thought there were emergency c-sections and they were done in a matter of minutes. I am enraged. It is disgusting to me that in this day and age there isn't a quicker, easier way to bring children into the world. Who does God think he is? My eyes shoot out anger at my so-called mother and so-called husband. How dare they fail me in my time of need. Then my wonderful mother did what she was there to do. She bent close to my head and kindly told me, "Now, Liz, there is no other way to do this, so I want you to just shut up now. Don't talk anymore."

(Oh yeah, and somewhere in all of this the nurse tells me I have to stop pushing because my cervix is still shut and the pushing is making it swell, making it get in the way, making things take longer. But pushing was the only way I was surviving those contractions.)

A little after 8pm: I was raised to always obey mother no matter what. So, I shut up. And I did so in absolute anger. Fine, I thought, you won't help me, you won't let me push, there is obviously no easier way out of this, and you want me to shut up. Then I won't talk to you two people ever again! And I completely shut up. And I stopped pushing. It was so hard but I did it. I wasn't going to talk, I wasn't going to push, I wasn't going to do anything but ignore everyone and everything. So, I found my happy meditation spot. When a contraction would come, instead of pushing, I would push against my mom's and Mr's Hot's hands (no pushing below my waist) and I moved my bent knees back and forth like the wings of a butterfly. And that is what they were, the newly expanding wings of a just-hatched butterfly, and the pain was the liquid coursing through the wings to help them expand. It was a beautiful, though painful, place to be. I also changed my thoughts. Instead of thinking about the time, the clock, the pain and such, I started praying and talking to the baby (in my mind) in between each contraction.

9pm: My body pushed. I didn't push, my body did. I didn't say anything though, I was in a different place now. Another push, and this time I can feel it. I feel hope. Do you know what hope feels like in delivery? It feels like ripping. The baby was ripping through the veil of life and that veil is my body. I could feel my body ripping in half, but I knew this intense pain and knew how fantastic it was. I smile as I feel my body take over the process for me. I can hear the nurse telling me to stop and yelling for the doctor. I just lay back while my body screamed for me, pushed for me, acknowledged the pain for me, and I just smiled knowing it was finally over. The head burst forth on that second push. The body came on the forth, and like light pouring out of my body he came all the way through. The intense pleasure of that moment is one that can not be described, only experienced. I can only imagine death itself as being its equal. And there he is, my little guy, bloody, purple, with eyes swollen shut. He made it, and so did I. And, no, I can't remember the pain. I can only remember the things I said and the things I thought, but I can't actually recall the feeling of that pain. But I do remember the feeling of that final moment of beauty. This is why I am crazy enough (and thankfully I'm lucky enough) to choose natural childbirth.

Prepare To Be Jealous

How do you totally surprise someone for their birthday? Act like you are going to totally surprise them for 4-6 years before you actually do. =)

WARNING: Despite years of my mother telling me it isn't nice to brag I'm about to brag my brains out here. If you don't like braggy people, please do not read this post and try to continue thinking of me as a humble person. Thank you.

For years now, Mr. Hotness has wanted to throw me a party or do something really cool for my birthday, but every year something got in his way: he forgot to plan ahead, we didn't have the money, or he just didn't know how to do it. So, I've had simple birthdays. Last year I opted to just stay home, watch SpongeBob, and eat cheesecake and pizza because having happy kids meant having a happy mommy. This year I turned 30 and Mr. Hotness kept telling me we had to do something big to celebrate (but he said the same thing when I was turning 29). I am so pregnant, my hair is so out of control, and my feet are so fat, that I really didn't feel like doing anything at all. I kept telling him I just wanted to see a movie, eat my favorite birthday dinner, and that was it (and I wasn't even expecting those to happen because we've had a tough time getting our babysitter now that she works). He kept telling me not to schedule anything on my birthday (just like he has for the past 6 years), but wouldn't tell me anything else.

My birthday comes and Mr. Hotness doesn't get up for work, so I figure he has taken the day off. I get up to make breakfast, school lunches, and to get the kids ready for school and the babysitter, while Mr. Hotness enjoys sleeping a little longer. I am serving the kids their french toast when Mr. Hotness comes out and says, "You haven't eaten breakfast, have you?!?!"


"No, not yet, why?"

"I'm not telling you why, just don't eat breakfast."

"Ooookay."

"What do you have planned for today?"

"Well, I'm taking the kids to school, then I have to drop the other kids off at the babysitter while I go to a doctor's appointment. Around 3 I will pick the kids up from school, and then I'm just going to enjoy my birthday."

"Why did you schedule a doctor appointment??? I told you not to schedule anything."

"Well, I didn't know you weren't going to work so I thought you meant not to schedule anything for the time that you are usually home."

"It's ok, this will still work."

"What will still work?"

"Nothing."

"Ooookaaaay."

Turns out he is taking me to breakfast. I think, "Aw, how sweet. This is my surprise." My friend was willing to watch the kids earlier so that we could eat before my appointment. I normally don't like going out for breakfast because breakfast is easy to make at home, but the place we went to actually served a fantastic breakfast. I had Swedish pancakes with loganberry butter and compote.

Then we picked up the kids and Mr. Hotness says, "Ok, now you get to choose between seeing Iron Man or going to McCormick and Schmicks for stuffed salmon."

"What about the kids?"

"I have that all taken care of." I started to panic because I am very very paranoid about who I let watch my kids. But Mr. Hotness did great and picked one of my very trusted, and best friends to watch them. It was a tough choice between the two but I settled on the salmon because it won't be coming out on DVD later. This salmon is my usual birthday treat. A big hunk of fresh salmon, stuffed with crab, shrimp, and brie cheese. Absolutely decadent! Even the mashed potatoes and veggies were cooked and seasoned perfectly. The weather was gorgeous! The restaurant overlooks lake Union and so we sat and watched water planes taking off and landing while I licked my plate clean. Mmmmm. They even gave me a free slice of scrumptious key lime cheese cake, but we took it to go because I was stuffed. I was so happy driving back to get the kids, telling my hubby how happy he had made me on my birthday, and thanks for arranging the babysitter and for all the yummy treats. I figured this was the surprise.

We get to my friend's house to get the kids and Mr. Hotness tells me I'm staying there. "What?" My friend, Jamie, pulls me into her house and says, "I'm babysitting you." Hmmmm, what is going on here? I'm worried that he might actually be planning a surprise party for me because I left the house with wet hair which was now all over the place, my breath was nasty after 2 meals, and my clothes were also a bit dirty after two meals (I can't eat without spilling when pregnant). I asked her for a curling iron and she said, "No." What kind of friend would deny a girl a curl? We sit and talk till her babysitter shows up and then she says, "Time to go." I was really worried now that I was going to have to face people looking so scrudgy (which happened to me the only other time I've had a surprise party thrown for me). But Jamie didn't take me home. She took me to the Gene Juarez Beauty salon. I start crying, just a bit and then stop before my face puffs up. Mr. Hotness has arranged for me to get my hair done, my face done, and my nails done. I've been so badly in need of a haircut but am way too cheap to get one. This place was amazing. They have you remove your shirt and put on a robe, they ask you what you want to drink, and then you sit by the fireplace till it is time for your appointment. This was one of the very very few times I've liked, no... loved, going to a beauty salon. The guy who did my hair actually listened to me and gave me a perfect cut. I have funky hair so a perfect cut is very hard for me to get. Then I went to the makeup counter and asked the lady if she could somehow hide all my embarrassing acne scars and pregnant blochyness. She did!!! And without making me look like a Glamour Shots photo. I looked in the mirror and actually had normal skin looking back at me. YAY! I asked her how much the "camouflage" paste and powder cost. It was too much. But then I cancelled the manicure (my nails are so short and I don't like the way my fingers look when wearing nail polish anyway) so I figured I would break even with buying the makeup. Now I'm excited to go out again, or to even get a family photo taken after the baby is born because I can hide my blemishes rather than photo shop them out (which I do). I came out happy. THIS was the big surprise!

But then Jamie grabs my arm, "We aren't done yet." There is more? She takes me to Motherhood and tells me that Mr. Hotness has instructed her not to let me leave until I find some outfits that makes me feel sexy. With everything I tried on she asked, "Do you feel sexy?" If I said no I wasn't allowed to buy it, no matter how cheap or practical it was. I came away with three new shirts (I wore the one in the picture out of the store), a super cute and comfy pair of cuffed capri jeans, and nursing pajamas with a matching onesie for the baby. "Ok, Liz, do your shoes make you feel sexy?" I tried to convince her that there was no way we were going to find shoes that could pull of such a miracle with my marshmallow feet, but like a good friend she insisted. We went to Payless (I didn't want to waste too much money on a pair of shoes that I hopefully won't be able to wear once my feet go back to normal) and we actually found a roomy, comfy, cute, as-sexy-as marshmallows-can-get, pair of shoes. Then we stopped into another store and I found some sexy, affordable, stretchy camisoles that I can use even after I've had the baby. They are extra long so I can wear them under all the shirts that don't quite cover the panel on my maternity pants. LOVE THEM! And they are lacey so I feel sexy when I wear them. I feel so completely spoiled at this point that I have to try really hard not to return all the clothing in a fit of humble frugality or cry and ruin my perfectly spackled face. This was the best surprise I've ever had. I was so overwhelmed and ready to get back to my Mr. Hotness to thank him for my wonderful day.

Jamie takes me home (she also got a fab new haircut and a cute new shirt) and I see cars all over the place. He didn't. Did he? He did!!! I come through the door and everyone shouts "Surprise!" Everyone but Mr. Hotness who was actually out grabbing some last minute things. I hid and when he came back I jumped out and yelled surprise to him. He seemed to like my new "sexy" look and I couldn't help but cry at this point for all he had done for me. And now I have to brag about what a wonderful job he did putting together this party. He thought of everything. He invited all my friends, old and new. He had it catered with Indian food, one of my absolute favorites! He even thought to have pizza and Cheetos on hand for all the kids. Several people brought food too so we also had Brazilian food and more Indian goodies. Mr. Hotness refused to let me do any work (my usual way of surviving parties) and made me socialize, and it was actually very fun being able to talk with everyone. Meanwhile, Mr. H was busting his cute hiney taking out garbage, fetching more cups and plates, making sure the food table was stocked, getting the cakes ready for me, etc. He even thought to put together a pinata, one of my favorite birthday things, and organized the whole whacking set up. We all took turns hitting it till Mr. J finally knocked it clear off the rope and the kids went diving for their candy. Then Mr. Hot brought out the birthday cakes. He had bought 2 gigantic cheesecakes. When he brought one of the cakes to me, with candles lit, and everyone following him singing to me, I started crying again. Monster Man asked why I was crying, "Because, Sweety, mommy just isn't used to all this attention." Cheesecake.... Mmmmmm, (so much for following the doctor's advice to watch what I eat till the baby is born). Food, friends, and fun. What a wonderful surprise. But it STILL isn't over.

Then came the last gift. I had mentioned last month that I would like to get an iPod for my birthday so I could listen to music while cleaning and running (after baby is born), and because my sister has found that her kids are willing to do hours worth of chores when they get to listen to the iPod while cleaning. All I wanted was one that played music and podcasts. Have you seen the new iPod shuffle? It is the size of a pat of butter, and just clips right onto your clothes, and it is only 30 bucks. Perfect! So did I get the iPod shuffle? Nosiree, bob! Mr. Hotness went a bit further and got me the new iPod Touch. Have you seen this thing? It is amazing. I'm not even tech savvy enough to describe it to you, other than to say that I LOVE it and already can't imagine my life without it. Now, when people give me a date for an event, instead of hoping I will remember, or scrounging for a pen and paper, I just plug it into my iPod. Saturday night we met up with six other adults for dinner at a fancy restaurant. We were the only ones that brought our kids, and after my kids had reached their "perfect manners for an hour" limit I turned on my iPod and they watched several episodes of PBS programs for children (Sesame Street and SuperY) quietly while all the adults continued to talk in peace for an extra 2 1/2 hours. And now I'm learning Spanish while I clean.

Come to find out, Mr. Hot had been planning this whole thing for weeks. I even found his "cheat sheet" later and it was even more touching seeing all the work he did putting it together. He even had the whole day planned down to the half hour.

Thank you, Mr. Hotness. You made me feel pampered, special, and completely loved. Thank you for working hard to afford such a day. Thank you for giving up the time it took to plan and put together such a wonderful day. Thank you for making it a complete surprise. Thank you for treating me like a queen. Thank you for making me cry. I love you!

DSSH, Further Known As....

My DSSH loves to tease me about blogging and his latest favorite tease is about my bloggy alias for him: DSSH. I have told him many times that it stands for Dear Sweet Sexy Hubby but he likes to say it means Dumb Stupid Sloppy Husband. He says that I am smart to use an acronym because then I can change the meaning anytime I want (like when talking to him vs. talking to my friends). He knows this isn't true, and all he has to do it read my blog to see that I'm often bragging about him, he just does this to bug me. And it works. So, like the time he kept telling me he didn't want anything for Christmas that couldn't fit in a stocking:

I am dedicating this post to him and to the reBloggening of his name.

*Sound the trumpets!!! Drum roll, please.

From this day forward, let DSSH (Dear Sweet Sexy Hubby)

be bloggingly known as Mr. Hotness!

Mr. Hotness is a total stud man. Watch as he takes on a whole army of devils:

Be amazed as he moves mountains for his children:

See how hot he is in a wet suit. (I wish I looked that good in a wet suit):

And see what amazing babies he makes with his hotness genes?

I love my Mr. Hotness more than I love artichokes, cheesecake, ice cream, movies, TV, I even love him more than *gasp* blogging. Mr. Hotness, I love you!

Oh, and if you are just dying to know about my awesome birthday adventure you are going to have to wait till Monday. It was so awesome it is going to take more time than I have to blog it today. Let me just say that my awesome Mr. HOTNESS exceeded all possible expectations and I cried several times I was so overwhelmed. He scored 10 years worth of birthday brownie points from me for yesterday.

And thank you to all of you wonderful bloggers who wished me a happy birthday. You guys made me feel extra special. =)

You Do The Math

Cheesecake + Candles x Thirty =???

Yuppers, I'm one year older and wiser (or weirder) today. I'd post something great right now but DSSSH says he is whisking me away on some Birthday adventure, so I hope you won't mind me recycling an old Birthday post. =)

May 15th, 1978

To My Monster Man

To my wonderful little guy,

Happy Birthday buddy. You are so full of energy sometimes it seems like you will just burst. Daddy and I often joke that you are unable to walk. If you aren't sleeping you are either running, jumping, or climbing. When we try to get you to walk you still have to skip because you just can't walk. You are very intense and live life with passion. I've never seen anyone dramatize the eating of green beans the way you do, or display such fright at the sight of blood. Sometimes (often) your intense energy and passion lead you to make mistakes, or to hurt others; in those moments your sorrow over having done wrong wins all hearts and you are quickly forgiven. You are very strong. You give hugs that cut off a persons windpipe, but, when you remember, you can give some of the sweetest hugs ever. you want so badly to be "smart", to learn new things, and to be "good", to do what's right. Everyday you work at being better and everyday I see you improve. Thank you for opening all my doors. Thank you for learning to share with Sweet Terror (even though she was so mean to you for all these years). Thank you for being Pablo's best friend. Thank you for telling me I'm beautiful and for all the hugs and kisses. I love you Monster Man. Happy birthday!!!

Cookie's Birthday Letter in Chalk

I had a lovely Birthday yesterday. I ate some very special treats, but made sure to be good to my body (meaning, I didn't eat so much that I had to spend the rest of the evening moaning and groaning). I recieved some very nice gifts from my husband and some money from my mom, "Thanks!". Quite a few of my friends and family thought to call or email me, making me feel loved (that's what birthday's are all about, right?). I felt spoiled and special, and that's how a girl should feel on her special day. Now, I have to brag about a very unexpected, very special, very beautiful gift that I was given. When DSSH came home last night, I went out onto the deck to greet him. Before I could even say, "Hi", I noticed sidewalk chalk writing all over the railing of the deck. This is what I found, written by my amazing 8 1/2 yr. old, Cookie:

I (heart) my Mom.

My Mom

My Mom is kind, loving, smart, and gentle. She can help me feel better when I'm sad. She is willing to give up things for me. She can make the rainy day seem sunny and bad dreams go away. Laughs at bad jokes. That is my mom.

My Mom is loving and kind.

With a beautiful face and sensitive mind.

If she smiles at someone they will become blind.

My mom is beautiful and kind.

Her favorite food is cheesecake and creme brule. Happy Birthday Mom.

The world bows down to you.

I (heart) you.

Can you believe this??? I was shocked, touched, amazed, proud. I quickly wrote it down because it will be gone with the next rainfall, and this is Seattle afterall. Cookie and I have had problems getting along with each other and have been really working on our relationship this year, which made this all the more special to me. Anyway, I will stop gushing now. I just wanted to share.

MAY 15th, 1978

Happy Happy Birthday Lizzy dear,
Happiness will come to me all year,

If I had a wish, then it would be,

A big cheese cake and ice cream just for me.

I am turning 20 today. Ok, that's a lie. I'm turning 29, but 29 is the standard age that people lie about so I thought I'd lie about being 20 so you would believe me about really being 29.

I thought it might be fun to look back on myself through these years. A lot has happened to me since I came out, all puckered and slimy, into the world. I grew up in very small town Rigby, Idaho. I lived just 5 houses down the street from our red brick chapel. We had a ditch in our back yard and a ball diamond behind that. I grew up wearing jean cutoffs over my swimsuit all summer, because one never knew when mom would take us to Rigby Lake, or when someone would dig a mud pit, or when a neighborhood hose fight would start. Winter was all about the snow. We would get snow drifts 4 feet high and the snow was so crisp you could walk on it. We would dig tunnels and pretend that we were lost and had to forage for ourselves in the winter wonderland.

My best friends were Tiffany (That's us with the matching pigtails, we knew each other from birth and were convinced that we were twins. I'm the blonde one that looks like a boy, yes a boy with pigtails in a hippie dress.) and my cousin, Laura (we are the ones snarfing down on chocolate beaters). It was a carefree, fun life full of sunshine and dirt. When I turned 6 Tiffany moved to Pennsylvania and I thought I would never get over it, but life went on. When I was 8 I found out that I wasn't the only friend in my cousin's life and that broke my heart, but life went on. At 9 my family packed up and moved to mid state N.Y. Everything seemed wet in N.Y., even the air; but I had never seen such forests and trees. I also started public school in N.Y. in the 6th grade (mom had homeschooled all of us). It was the neatest thing to have my own glue sticks, highlighters, even my teacher was just mine.

I grew up fast in N.Y.

and learned a lot about life, boys, social rules, and heart ache. When I was 15 my dad was found to have cancer. In 1 1/2 years I watched my 40 year old dad become an 88 year old feeble man. My mom still had us kids to raise so we moved back to Idaho so she could have the support of her family. We moved to Rexburg, Idaho where my dad lasted long enough to see mom settled in her own home. He passed away on August 19, 1994. It was fun being back in the sunshine and small town life of Idaho again, but I didn't fit in that town. I stayed long enough to graduate (just two years).

I packed up and moved to Boise, Idaho. I loved it there. I was independant for once in my life. I was free of all responsibility except my own survival. Then I had to go and meet a wonderful guy. My DSSH swept me off my feet at the all too young age of 19. By the time I was 20 I had my first baby, she was born a week after our one year anniversary, so don't bother counting ;)

The rest of the story is pretty much a "They lived Happily Ever After" story. I now have 4 beautiful kids, live near Seattle, WA, still love my husband with a passion beyond words, and have always felt that my life has been the best I know of.

So, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

And in case you want to know, I'm making myself a cheese cake, just like I have every year since I was 7 (although now I make the yummy baked kind, and not the Jello kind).