Benedict birthday

I think it's safe to say this is the best birthday card I'll receive this year. Thank you dearest Kim Privor!

And thank you to everyone who is helping me celebrate! The amazing thing about the internet and having friends around the world is that the wishes come in waves. They started late last night, as Australia and Italy awoke and have continued to push strongly my way since. I'm so grateful and feel awfully festive! 

39 is looking good! Thank you everyone!

Love affairs

Yesterday morning was both sunny and warm enough to finally return to the farmers market. I have missed it desperately, so after their swimming lessons, the boys and I beat a path down to Dupont, found a great parking spot and headed in. They ate everything they saw, and I came home with some real treats. 

Can you even stand how gorgeous this bread is? I mean, you'd have bought it too, right? Indeed. Once home, I immediately made a sandwich with a wedge of it; dripping with peppery olive oil, salt, pepper, basil and tomatoes, avocado and chicken, it was so satisfying I nearly had another.

And how fresh and lovely is that head of lettuce I ask you?! It just made a fabulous lunch salad.

We were so happy to be there. Now if only the boys would talk a bit less next time...I'm serious. It was epic.

On the way home, we passed this tulip tree. It lives about a half-mile from our house, and every year I'm flabbergasted by its marvelously ostentatious display. It's Octomom-pregnant! DC in the springtime really can't be beat, aesthetically speaking.

Ol headed off to a birthday party, so I decided I best go for another run. Jack asked if he could join me, and I'll admit that I was hesitant at first. His coordination skills are not always tremendous. He's been known to fall down while simply standing in place, and I wasn't sure I wanted the equivalent of Phoebe from Friends (remember how she ran?) tagging along behind me. But he was so earnest and darling, and I would love a good partner, so...

4.2 flipping miles later -at a 9:39/minute pace!- this awesome kiddo and I arrived home. I remain floored by his running prowess and am unbelievably proud. T attempted to join us, but when we circled back at mile 3, we found him panting on a bench. He has wide, flat, plank-like paddle feet which is one reason he was a good swimmer but is also why running is not his best activity. He drove home which was a good call. 

Last night, still amazed by Jack's out-of-the-gate run in inappropriate shoes (he was wearing those heavy, light-up shoes kids like; they don't even have laces!), I was certain I'd done something dreadful to him and that he'd wake up paralyzed. I may have even shed a few tears worrying about it.

No, he popped out of bed and isn't even sore. Did I mention he talked the entire time? I mean, that kid could probably run a damn marathon tomorrow if he closed his mouth to conserve the energy he spends verbally.

It's so cool to have your children knock your socks off in a good way. Maybe you've underestimated them, or maybe you just don't realize how capable they're become as they grow up. It's like a niece you haven't seen in a year, and so in your mind, she's still just walking and not really talking. Then you see her, and she's running and is a motor-mouth but it's dissonant, because she stopped growing when you last saw her, right? Except of course she didn't; your mind just froze in time.

With your kids, whom you see every day, it's the same but different: you recognize that they're changing but you don't see the changes as dramatically as you do when your times together are years apart.

And then boom, one day your eight-year-old  runs alongside you for more than 4 miles and says, "When we're done, I want a double high five and a hug. And then, I want to do this again together next weekend!" and you think, "Wow, when did this happen?" And it's cool.

An aging lady on the couch with bonbons

Over the course of the past year, my dear mother has taken to repeating, "I can't believe I have a daughter who's almost forty." 

Thanks for the reminder, Mom!

As it turns out, I will only be 39 next week, so really, the 40s death knell seems early, yes? 

I myself don't mind getting older. By and large, age is but a number. That said, a few things clearly suck about approaching mid-life. A second wave of acne is definitely on my list (seriously, what the eff did any woman ever do to deserve zits again?) as is the fact that if I sit cross-legged on the floor for more than 8 minutes, my knees regret it for hours. But the most annoying might very well be the way aging bodies metabolize alcohol. In short, they suck at it.

Wine and the occasional cocktail are integral, happy, celebratory, relaxing aspects of my life. A superbly cooked filet is made even more sublime when enjoyed with a great Cabernet. A fresh crottin of goat cheese sings alongside a crisp Sancerre. A flute of champagne can make even the dullest of events feel festive. And when was the last time you sat outside on a beautiful summer night, enjoying a chilled Rosé, and felt anything but content?

Right.

So it's a cruel twist that as the years go on and you have a bit more time and your kids need a bit less and perhaps you're a bit more established, those sublime nectars start to mess with you. Your sleep is impaired, your stomach may feel like it's been grated, your cognitive abilities suffer, your head feels like it's packed with cotton. Unless you're in Italy and then you can even day-drink again!

I had two glasses of wine last night with my dinner. Two. Tom had a work function, and I cooked myself a lovely, lovely meal, got out my crossword puzzle, poured a vat of water to offset the damn dehydration elements in the wine, and spent a few delightful hours. 

And I woke up this morning and felt like I was on Mars. Hmph. It's very nearly unacceptable. As it's cold and rainy here, I decided that after dropping the boys off at school, I'd come home and take a nap. Just curl up on the couch with Percy and call it a morning. 

Percy, the slug pug. Does he look relaxed, or what?!

This sort of luxury is not something I usually afford myself, but what else could Mars head do? Percy was thrilled, and really, so was I. I awoke at 10:15 to the sound of the mailman delivering some letters and a few packages. Packages are always fun, so I ambled to the door by way of my Soda Stream (because: more water) and found an early birthday present from one of my dearest college friends.

An entire box of See's Nuts & Chews!! These are my faves. I do not, generally speaking, like boxed chocolates. There's too much going on, and that weird puffed, grainy filling that too many of them boast is the pits. Also, the chocolate tends to taste eerily like paraffin wax. No thank you.

But See's Nuts & Chews? Ohmygod. Chocolate, nuts and the minimal amount of caramel or marshmallow needed to hold it all together. I love and do not share these. Thank you, Ames.

In that moment, Mars head decided to stay on the couch with the bonbons and be that woman. I don't know that I've ever actually sat on the couch in the late morning eating candies. (Where did that ridiculous stereotype of stay-at-home mothers come from anyway?) It was delightful, and my friend's timing couldn't have been better.

You can see in the make-up free, un-Photoshopped pic that I do not wake up looking like Miranda Kerr does (if her Instagram feed is showing us regular people the truth). Then again, she is a supermodel, and I am not.

But that right there is an almost-39-year-old who took a nap and ate candy and feels damn happy about having done so.

Maybe the best part of getting older is feeling OK about doing just that. Even if it means suffering minimal-wine after-effects to get there.