Happy Birthday to Me

This morning I went to my stake exercise class. I really enjoy it—I love to feel my body working hard, and I love being there with my friends. I even love the tired shakiness that I'm feeling now, an hour later. If Bruce had gone with me (which he sometimes does) he would have told everyone that it's my birthday today. But Bruce had a meeting to go to this morning, and he won't be back until around 2 p.m. If he thinks to ask about the class this morning, he will ask me if I told them it's my birthday today. Well, no. I haven't gone around telling everyone, "Today is my birthday!" since I was about seven. (Although I'm not above letting my family know when it's coming up soon.)

Actually, I've kind of learned to hate my birthdays over the last few years. I feel a bit like Ebeneezer Scrooge: "What's [my birthday] but a time for finding [myself] a year older, but not an hour richer?"

I'm not expecting anything, not even to have my kids clean up the house until I issue several commands. Ooooo! Bad, BAD attitude! And pretty selfish, too, I guess.

Well, I did get a birthday card with a new pair of jeans inside it, from my father-in-law. Thanks, Dad! And I did get to go to my exercise class that I love. Maybe I'll even make myself a cake. And maybe I'll buy myself a new scroll-saw that I've been saving up for. And I think maybe Bruce and I will go out tonight. That's not so bad.

Right now, though, I'm going to clean up the kitchen and then start working on Ryan's pinewood derby car with him. (The derby is next Friday!) We'll see how the day really goes.

Happy Birthday to Me!