No, actually, I say it’s my birthday. I am no longer the Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything; now I’m just the nondescript number 43.
The schools were on a delay today, so I got to sleep late; I was awakened at 8:45 by my husband and kids bringing me breakfast in bed. My 11-year-old son makes a killer cheese-and-bacon omelet, let me tell you. It was a very lovely way to start the day. 🙂
My mom got me a marvelous book: a collection of cartoons by one of my favorite artists from The New Yorker: Roz Chast. Much of my birthday evening will be spent in front of the fireplace enjoying her strange and hysterical takes on the world.
But probably the best laugh of the day came when I finally got out to my computer this morning and found a card my son had made and propped against the monitor. It has lively drawings of cake, candles, and balloons, and inside, features the following poem (with his emphasis and spelling):
Roses are Red,
Violets are Blue,
Sugar is Sweet,
And your past 42!
Who could ask for anything more?