December 30th – a sucky time to have a birthday in general. Everyone is totally over the holidays, out of money, and pretty much does not really care if you feel ripped off by getting a dual gift wrapped in paper that says Ho Ho Ho!
I care about birthdays, so I really do try to make them special for the person in question. But this time of year does wear me out. I don’t really like Christmas. (Enter the collective gasp!) I find small bits of magic every year amidst the tyranny of Santa, the barrage of angry Christians who insist if I don’t say “Merry Christmas!” with a giant smile to every checkout person and colleague I am somehow degrading their religion, and the forced gatherings of people who don’t necessarily want to hang out together but are somehow compelled to sit at Z Tejas on a Thursday afternoon, eat nachos and exchange “white elephant” gifts. (I brought a book of poetry. It was not well received.)
So I feel badly for Joe. His birthday – today – falls right after my energy has been completely drained of goodwill towards men. This year is worse given the fact that the previous two weeks at work have been so stressful I have been dreaming that our company had a secret business of creating zombies that looked like normal people and so the population was confused and dying at rapid rates. It was my job to a) Alert the Public while b) Protecting The Company.
I’m also a planner. So earlier this year, knowing my post-holiday mood would be less-than-pleasant, we booked a cabin in the mountains for a family getaway. We left town on Saturday and drove the long trip up to Greer.
Two boys, lots of Rainbow Looming accouterments, and a small travel dog. I think it took about 4.5 hours to get here, since we stopped on the way to buy snow pants, gloves, and taco shells. It’s unclear how we fit these items into the over-stuffed Jeep – mainly everything new went around my feet.
I used to come up here as a kid. My parents were skiers. They liked to be in the lift line at 8:45 to make the first trip up the mountain, take a 30 minute break for lunch, and make sure to be in the line to make the last 4 p.m. ride. They called me “Princess Molasses” because I did not move very fast – I don’t like to be cold, I don’t like to hurl myself quickly down mountains, and I don’t like people to make fun of me. A bad mixture all around. As I was recalling these memories the other night, I think I offended my mom who apparently never knew I didn’t want to go skiing and don’t like too much activity. Or cold.
So here we are in our cabin in Greer, with our dog and two kids in the middle of winter. It was 16 degrees this morning and amazing frost on our patio. I stayed in my pajamas until 1 p.m. today…my kind of vacation…
Joe’s day included sleeping in, two pots of coffee, kids who are on somewhat good behavior, snowball fights, an afternoon nap, and dinner out at Molly Butler’s. Considering last year we were in Paris it’s a tough to compete. (That was incredible, amazing, shocking, fun and exhausting. This is relaxing, quiet, and not very romantic. Which is better?)
So happy birthday Joe! Here is your birthday blog, which I hope you like as much as you liked your birthday Zentangle: