My birthday is tomorrow. I'll be 36 years old, and I haven't much to show for it, aside from my kids. They're my success story, and the only one I've got.
I spent my birthday weekend as follows:
Saturday - work --> pick up my son Book from his dad's (my first husband) --> lunch with the kids at Nana's --> take the girls to their dad's (my second husband) --> clean house for nine hourse, including a full work-over of the kitchen, downstairs bathroom and living room, plus steam-cleaning the carpet
Sunday --> work --> take Book home --> pick up the girls --> lunch --> grocery shopping --> back home for more work --> get the girls ready for school --> crochet half a scarf --> more work writing my column.
The scarf is my first crochet project in more than five years. My son Pooh's ex-girlfriend has a brother who is mentally disabled, and I'm making it for him. He called me out of the blue a couple of weeks ago and asked me to make him a scarf or afghan because he'd overheard Pooh talking with his sister about how I used to make afghans. I'd given it up because my wrists (all of my joints, really) are in pretty bad shape, and I just couldn't do it anymore. I'd been thinking about it since his phone call though, and I figured I could manage a scarf for him. After all, it was the first time anyone had actually asked me to make something, and I didn't want to disappoint him. I hope to be able to finish up tomorrow.