My Son Is Home. Is It My Birthday?

birthday cake (Photo credit: freakgirl)

Of course it is!  Or was, on Sunday. As Patti commented, however, The birthday just keeps on going.

It started last week, but that’s a post for another day (tomorrow) (now I have to write it, as I’ve committed to it) (at least I know what I’ll be writing about tomorrow) (I don’t always) (do you?).

Actual celebrations started on Saturday afternoon, when Spud insisted we walk the dogs at a specific time, instead of dragging the start time out as long as possible, in the hope that it would rain and the dogs would refuse to put their pure bred little backsides out the front door.

I suspected nothing.

We always walk for a minimum of thirty minutes; Spud tries to pare it down to as little as possible.   He dragged it out to forty-five minutes: I want to go on the swings/Let’s go the long way home for a change/I’m interested in what you’re saying.

I should have suspected something with that last one.

We arrived home.  I could hear Hub talking.  An unexpected guest?  I walked into the living room – there was Tory Boy in all his curly-haired glory!  I wasn’t expecting him for another week.  If I ever doubted my love for my son (as you do) (you don’t?) (oh, it’s just me, then?), I could tell by the way I threw my arms around him until he turned blue and screamed like a Saturday night TV audience that I was glad to see him.

You can’t get a better present than that, though some of these came pretty close:

• The Hunger Games DVD.  I enjoyed it much more, second time around, because I’m over the horror of watching it the first time.  The first time I watch a film version of a beloved book, I always hate it.  Then I learn to love it, because I know what’s in, what’s out, what’s added to make it make sense.  It’s a rough journey but I persevere.
• The Hunger Games trilogy of books.  I have them on my Kindle but I wanted hard copies (in paperback, so they are soft hard copies, not hardback hard copies) for when society breaks down.  When that happens – it’s closer than you think; remember what they’re doing to our food – I won’t have any electricity to re-charge the Kindle and the Hub will insist on using the generator we must get around to buying, for lights and stuff; he’s not a reader, you see.  So this gift was an absolute essential.
• Toiletries.  A fair bit of.  Apparently, I smell.  
• Some fun stuff, the subject of tomorrow’s post.
• A poetry book.  Big and inclusive with pretty pictures.  I love it.
• A rap.  That was from Spud.  He wrote it the night before and performed it on Sunday morning while half asleep.  I love it, particularly the part where his mother is not crap.
• A housework-free day.  The boys did everything, including cooking, dishes, and every cup of tea.  Be sure I took advantage.
• A promise.  I’ll tell you more when the promiser makes good on the promise he made to the promisee (me).
• A beautiful jumper that arrived yesterday.  I like birthdays that go on all week.  I got another card this morning.
• Maltesers.  Without which, what’s the point of birthdays?
  

  Happy Birthday (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Thank you, everyone  for your good wishes.  I promise not to talk about my birthday again until next year.  Apart from tomorrow, of course.  And if I remember anything I might have forgotten to share today.  To paraphrase Patti: the birthday that won’t go away.

You think you’ve had it hard this year?

Next year, I’m fifty.

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