According to the calendar, it was my granddaughter's 13th birthday. I'm beginning to believe it was actually my special day.
We sang a pretty regrettable rendition of "Happy Birthday", ate cake and opened presents (mainly consisting of what every teen wants--hard, cold cash). The child realized she now had enough money to buy what she had always dreamed of (or if not always, at least for the past few months): an IPod Touch. Grandpa said he'd take everyone with him to make the purchase, and I could stay home and have time to myself.
I had spent the afternoon doing last-minute birthday shopping, baking cakes, whipping up frosting, and decorating for the celebration. I was also smack in the middle of a mountain of laundry, a sink full of dirty dishes, and making hundreds of trips up and down stairs in the ill-timed process of moving the entire contents of one room to another. I wasn't exactly relaxing, but with the house to myself I could now complete my chores without constantly being interrupted and pulled in fifty different directions.
I'll take what I can get. Happy birthday to me!