Today I turned 36.
I had no real expectations for my birthday. Other than cake, of course.
My children truly are wonderful creatures with big, giant puffy hearts. This morning they were up super early showering me with homemade gifts full of “you can pinch my butt-chocks whenever you want” and “good for 30 minutes of hair braiding” coupons and homemade edibles full of cinnamon toast. And then I cried.
My work website was down—for me only, because it hates me—for the 85th time this month. It’s a mystery that we are thisclose to solving—it’s not me, it’s liquidweb—but for a good 2.5 hours, I can’t do any work. And then I cried.
My sister sent me flowers from Seattle. And then I cried.
I spoke to an old friend. And then I cried.
I got a really nice unexpected compliment. And then I cried.
I was disappointed in someone. And then I cried.
I got three Starbucks gift cards from people I adore very much. And then I cried.
I cherished each and every happy birthday tweet, phone call, Facebook message, skype chat, text, bbm, email. And then I cried.
I realized that even though I had so much virtual love today, I spent the day at home, by myself, working. Not even one coffee invitation. And then I cried.
Emily got second place in two races today. And then I cried.
It’s just been that kind of a day. Lots of tears. Lots of reasons. Thank god no one bought me a sloth, is all I’m saying.
But for now there is cake.
So these tears are all joy.