Tuesday was my birthday, and I am finally thirty-one. Thirty-one is a bit more convincing than thirty, which sounds a bit like you're making it up, or at least rounding. And when you're thirty-one you're really, properly in your thirties, not just, thirty.
Delphine's daycare is closed this week, so I invited a bunch of her friends over and the day that worked for everyone happened to be my birthday, so we had Ursa and Tanya over, and Dexter and Ellen and Maxine. I was talking to Delphine about our plans for the day over breakfast, and I said, "Who's coming over today?" She said "Dexter." "Who else?" "Ellen, and Maxine."
I said, "Who else?"
She said, "Who?"
"Ursa?" She looked slightly alarmed. "Two friends?"
"Yeah, two friends! Is two friends too many?"
"Yeah. Why two friends?"
It turned out that two friends wasn't actually too many, but she didn't like the idea of it.
Anyway, we got some KFC (which I always have for my birthday), and Morgan and Kathryn came over too, and Morgan brought cake, so the house was noisy and full of fun for my birthday, which I love. I was absolutely exhausted by the end of it all, but it was a good exhaustion. I like my friends. And my friends' children.
Then tonight was the family dinner; Morgan and Erik and Baba and Zaida came over and we had steak and mashed potatoes and honey-spice cake which Blake made for me.
It has been a nice birthday, unambitious and simple and thoroughly enjoyable.