Two weeks

That’s how long it takes to get over a bad 45th birthday.  Just in case you were wondering.And yes I know that sounds like a pity party, but what the hell — I was feeling rather pitiful. The cure:  taking on a new fund-raiser for the babies’ school.  One that hasn’t been done before, and needs to be built from ground-up, but is for the financial aid program (which I love) and can potentially raise hundreds of thousands. So, yeah, that’ll get your mind off the bad birthday bit.  Although the lack of volunteers for silent or live auctions can send you back into a spiral……..   not that I blame the 50 (yes, FIFTY) women on my committee.  Personally I also hate working on the auction business.But since I’m now 45, and all grown-up and shit, it’s time for me to be a kick-ass take-charge kind of hyphenating woman, who embraces all forms of solicitation.  Did that sound wrong? 

Blasted Bloody Fockin’ Birthday

I turned 45 on the fourth.  Not happy with that so far.   Urg.  Arg. UGH.  Urk.   

Confuddlement

Two days ago a box arrived, addressed to me. The box is from my mama’s hometown. None of this is a huge surprise, given that my birthday is tomorrow (woo-hoooooo!).

So I open the box, and discover the following:

Inside:

Oh my. Truly, my family is the best.