On my 9th birthday, in 3rd grade, I was playing tag at school during recess. While running, I turned to look behind me to see if I was being chased. I was, so I quickly turned forward to pick up my pace, only to run into a cement pillar. A huge bump surfaced on my forehead, but I was too afraid to tell anyone about it. I covered the bump with my bangs and went on with my day. That wasn’t such a good birthday.
On my 19th birthday I was living in Alaska. My mom sent me a frosted cake along with 19 candles, all in a tupperware container. That was a good birthday (you can learn more about this through today’s posting on the Kind Living blog).
This morning at around 9, I was greeted at the door by Christine, who had arrived with homemade brownies and candles for me on her way to work. A couple hours later, Melinda and I went out for a sushi lunch. The tuna melted in our mouths. Moments ago, lovely Celeste knocked on our door to invite us over for pizza (with the explanation that her dad has made too much). I’m about to go for a jog in the late afternoon sun. In France.
This is a really good birthday.