For my actual birthday I was hoping for some mystical relaxing day at home. Maybe a nap. In the evening I would drink wine and make eggplant parm for the first time.
The universe had other ideas. Pip wanted me to take him to basketball. Then I had to run the gauntlet at Market Basket (with a whining, grumpy Pip), and come home to Meg being sick AGAIN. That poor girl is really struggling lately with every bug known to man. When she's not sick, she's teething and it's horrible.
So my relaxing evening in the kitchen was punctuated by her constantly crawling over to pull on my leg, insisting to be lifted up and hugged. While I was able to make this yummy goodness ...
... I can't say my attitude kept itself in tact. When Pip and Vivie all but refused to eat it and then continually interrupted me when I was trying to put poor sick Meg to bed to tell me they wanted to eat my cake, I was all done. Sourly, I came downstairs, slammed the cake on the counter, doled out three pieces for Phil, Pip, and Viv ... and refused to eat one myself. I was not going to let them tell me when I would eat my cake. Childish. Kind of sad, but at that moment, it was keeping my ego afloat ... barely. (At least this post is honest).
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