Today is Sean’s birthday (and I think he is slightly bothered by the fact that he is thirty-ONE). I did all of my shopping preparation yesterday. I cleared my normally busy Wednesday schedule (voice lessons and youth group) so I could have the evening with him and our family. I wanted to be sure and make it a nice day for him.
He woke up early this morning so he could, as usual, head to the gym and work out before going to the office. I’m assuming the workout was good. The drive home, however, wasn’t.
Oh, OK, the drive was fine. It just wasn’t in his car. Because his car refused to start.
He spent half of the morning testing the car battery (it was fine) and having the car towed to a shop. The starter is messed up. I can live with that, since that isn’t a horribly expensive thing to have fixed.
So he finally made it into the office (in jeans–lol–how often do you go to your insurance agent’s office and see him in jeans?), and the morning has been calm for him.
My morning, however, would not be classified as calm. The kids have actually done OK for the most part, but I have been busy trying to get things ready. Their bedroom was a mess, the kitchen floor still needs swept and mopped, and I have all of the general picking up and vacuuming that needs to be done.
And, of course, there was the cake.
If there is one “given” about an adult birthday around here, it is that someone had better be making a German chocolate cake. From scratch. Sooooo worth it. But making a cake from scratch can get a little frustrating with four little people arguing with each other and wanting your attention at the same time. So I put on Thomas the Train DVD’s for them to watch while I worked on the cake.
Would you question my sanity if I told you that I started getting a bit too involved with Thomas? It started when I heard the trains all singing about how much they had to do. All I could think was, “Yeah, right, try bringing your animated little cabooses into my world. You’ve got nothing on reality.”
Then the steam engines and the diesel engines started arguing about who is better (like I don’t hear enough of that without the help of the television). For the next fifteen or so minutes, I walked around singing “Oooooh, the diesels and the steamies should be friends…” a la Oklahoma.
Oh, yes, that brings me to the term “steamies.” Please tell me that I’m not the only one highly disturbed by the diesel’s insistence on calling Thomas a “stinkin’ steamy.” Maybe it’s just because I already had the farmer and the cowman on my mind, but that just sounds unsanitary.
OK, I’ll stop. Sean will be home in a few hours, and I’ve got miles to go before I have a peaceful home for him to return to. And, after his morning, he deserves at least that much for his birthday.