I’ve got bad habits.

So do you.

But this is about me, as things almost always are. See, there’s one bad habit.

Here’s a few more:

I stack the recycling on the bench in the garage until cereal boxes, empty bean tins and maple syrup jugs are toppling over onto the floor rather than taking them out to the recycling can on the side of the house.  Hey, it’s raining.

I flip over the towels in the guest bathroom instead of washing them.  It’s Target’s fault for making them reversible.

Sometimes, and it pains me to admit this, I use tissue in the bathroom rather than taking the last few squares off the toilet paper roll.  If I used the toilet paper, I’d obligate myself to getting a new roll.  Not to mention recycling the empty cardboard tube (aka balancing it on all the other stuff piled on the garage bench).  Plus, the tissue box is right there.

None of those habits seem that bad, though, because they are born of sheer laziness.

Truly bad habits are born of selfishness.

I’ve got those too.

Like when I go to Chipotle, get a “family” bag of chips for the group, dump them all out, inspect them like a forensic scientist, choose the five or six chips with the most deliciously limey salt on them and then put the rest back for everyone else.

Jerk.

Or when we get fresh strawberries from the market and while slicing them up, I pick out the sweetest, ripest berry and eat it straight away myself.

Selfish, selfish jerk.

I’ll try to find a way to make it up to you.

See.

Salt & Lime Tortilla Chips with Strawberry Avocado Salsa

Serves 4

Print this recipe!

For the Chips:

• 4 corn tortillas, cut into wedges
• 1 lime, juiced
• 2 T. oil for brushing (olive oil, coconut, etc.)
• coarsely ground sea salt

For the Strawberry Avocado Salsa:

from Cooking Light.com

• 1 c. finely chopped strawberries
• 1/4 c. finely chopped, peeled avocado
• 2 T. finely chopped red onion
• 2 T. chopped, fresh cilantro
• 1/2 t. lime zest
• 2 T. fresh lime juice
• 2 t. finely chopped, seeded jalapeno
• 1/4 t. sugar

For the chips, preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Brush one side of each tortilla wedge with oil and place, oil side down, on a baking sheet.

Brush the top of each wedge with oil and generously squeeze with lime juice.

Be even more generous with the salt, sprinkling it directly on each wedge.

That one down, there?  That one’s mine.

Bake for 12-15 minutes or until chips are crisp and just starting to brown.

For the salsa, place all ingredients in a medium bowl and gently stir to combine.  Serve immediately.

I think I just developed another bad habit.

You know, the one where I make a recipe at 10 a.m. intending it to act as a first course to dinner and then eat most of it before lunch?

Yeah, that one.

Luckily, it’s just the beginning of strawberry season, and I can make more.

Come on over.

I’ll let you have first pick of the chips.

And the guest bathroom is all ready for you.

I love my husband.

He’s a good, good man.

I have a month until Father’s Day.  A mere thirty days to find a way to thank him for being both a devoted father and the glue that holds our family together.

For being the person I can call to calm me down when my head is going to explode, I am speaking in tongues and my pulse is beating in my ears like a marching band because I have decided to drive straight into the middle of a parade for an hour instead of being at Lulu’s ballet rehearsal, in charge of a dozen tiny little flowers in a Mid-Summer’s Night Dream.

For the record, it wasn’t my pulse beating in my ears, it was an actual marching band.  And they passed me.  Twice.

I hate parades.

I’m amazed that despite my daily lack of grace, patience and basic knowledge of our town’s festivals and concurrent street closures, Pea Daddy loves me and his family more than anything.

And though I love getting emails from him (that most often are Groupons), I’m quickly tipped off that something kind of hinky is going on when I get them from him on the weekend.

As he’s sitting five feet away from me.

Grinning at his iPhone like an enthusiastic pimply-faced member of the middle-school Color Guard.

I should have been tipped off by the words “Ultimate Treasure Chest.”

Foolishly, I opened the email, sealing my Father’s Day fate and the fate of any spare time I’ll be lucky to squirrel away in the next month.

Oh, dear me.

The good news is, I think we stand a real chance of winning, given the fact that most dads who would be interested in winning $10,000 of Tommy Bahama gear are unfamiliar with how to use a computer and thus will have no way of knowing about or entering the contest.

The bad news is, I think we stand a real chance of winning.

Which means that in a month, there could very well be $10,000 worth of shirts like these in our closet.

I repeat: oh, dear me.

I love my husband.  I must.

But I still hate parades.

A few of my favorite bloggers have done “A Day in the Life” posts lately, and since I have enjoyed those behind-the-scenes glimpses so much, I thought I’d put a similar post together for you.  Indulge me.  Or forgive me.  Or both.  This was Thursday, and, for better or worse, pretty typical.

5:45 a.m.  My alarm goes off and since I am 86 and went to bed at 10 p.m. last night, I have no problem getting up.  I have a big cup of coffee and a homemade protein cookie (I’m obsessed with these) and I truly enjoy my alone time with God.  I read my Bible and my devotional (I love Jesus Calling and anything by Joyce Meyer).  I try and share something encouraging on Facebook and Twitter (yay for morning fellowship!) and lace up my tennis shoes.

6:20 a.m.  I run to my gym.  It’s about a mile away and I jog slowly, listening to K-LOVE all the way there.  There’s something about being out in the sunshine and listening to inspirational, uplifting music—it’s the perfect way to start my day.  Once at the gym, I switch over to NPR’s “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me.”  This and The Colbert Report are admittedly my only news sources.  Everything else is too depressing.  I do about 40 minutes of weights, chit chat with the other super sweet elderly people who work at at that hour, and then put K-LOVE back on and walk home.

7:50 a.m.  It’s chaos.  Lulu is still wearing her pajamas, complaining about how hungry she is, even though toast and fruit are sitting at her place at the table where Pea Daddy has lovingly left them.  Gigi is simultaneously trying to jump rope, read Little House and stay out of the way of her own awesome bed head.  We have about 30 minutes until Lulu has to leave for school, so I quickly get her to eat breakfast, get dressed and brush her teeth.  I comb her hair, pack her snack and send her out the door with Pea Daddy.  Whew.

8:30 a.m.  I have another cup of coffee and tame Gigi’s hair.  I make sure she has her lunch, backpack, water bottle, and gym shoes and we walk to school.  Hugs are exchanged.  I exhale.  I am alone.

9:15 a.m.  Breakfast, finally.  I’m starved.  Feeling adventurous, I try these Carrot Cake Pancakes that my friend Tonda tipped me off to. They are insane, and that’s a good thing.  Normally, I’d finish breakfast and use this time to cook something for the blog, but since I’ve cut myself a little slack lately, I use this time to return emails, shop online for Gigi’s birthday and then do something truly novel: shower.

11:15 a.m.  I drive across town to pick up Lulu from preschool.  She is in a mood.  Her lips are chapped, she’s hungry, she wants to watch a TV show, she wants to play Angry Birds, she just wants to be anywhere but the car.  We stop at our local health food store where I restock our yogurt supply, buy Lulu some chapstick and get her some Barbara’s Baked Cheese Puffs, to hopefully alleviate the constant begging I’ve been getting for Cheetos.  She complains that the chapstick makes her lips feel worse.  I pull out the big guns to cheer her up. (Click on this link at your own risk.  Trust me, I spared you my version from the driver’s seat.  Yeee.)

12:45 p.m.  We are finally home.  I make Lulu lunch, a sandwich with cheese, hummus and pickles, with a side of cheese puffs and fresh strawberries.  I pack Gigi’s lunch at the same time so I only have to do the job once.  I make myself a Hugh Jass salad and I follow it with a cup of green tea and another homemade protein cookie.

1:35 p.m.  I clean up from lunch and read a few stories to Lulu, who is in a slightly better mood.  I flip through this month’s Cooking Light for some inspiration (Veggie Grilled Pizza?  Yes, please!) and start a menu plan/grocery list for next week.  Lulu and I head outside to draw with chalk, hula hoop and ride bikes until it’s time to pick Gigi up from school.

3:20 p.m.  We walk to school to get Gigi, bringing Lambie and Blankie with us.  We chat with friends who have girls the same ages, one who has Gigi’s real name and the other who has the exact same Blankie.  And they have a dog who tolerates Lulu.  This friendship was meant to be.

4:00 p.m.  We’re home and it’s snack time.  I make Cake Batter Green Smoothies for us all and my aunt comes by for a quick visit.  We talk about American Idol, Dancing With the Stars and other crucial current events while the girls put on a gymnastics demonstration.  They’ve never taken gymnastics, so it’s brief.

4:50 p.m.  I frantically get the girls changed and head out for ballet class.  Our Spring Recital is in three weeks and we have all-day rehearsal on Saturday.  I’m class coordinator for Lulu’s class.  As a result, I’m packing heat.  And by that, I mean baked cheese puffs and chapstick.

6:15 p.m.  Pea Daddy arrives at the ballet school.  God bless him.  He stays with Gigi for her class and Lulu and I head for home, hitting the store on the way for the essentials:  more lip ointment and dinner.

7:30 p.m.  We eat pizza and salad (romaine, apples, balsamic, almonds and blue cheese) and I have a glass of wine (both the pizza and wine are atypical…the salad is not).  We make plans for Gigi’s birthday next week.  I’ve got some cake baking to do.

8:15 p.m.  Bedtime.  It goes like this.

9:00 p.m.  I return a few more emails, approve and respond to blog comments and check Facebook and Twitter. On a night I’m blogging, I’ll edit photos, write and get a post up.  Tonight, though, is an “off” night, so I’m ready to shut down the computer, have a cup of tea and watch TV with Pea Daddy.

9:45 p.m.  I usually have a bowl of protein ice cream, write out my workout for the morning and read (my current selection) until I fall asleep.  It doesn’t take long.  As you recall, I’m 86.

You had no idea it was this exciting.  But you know what?  It’s my life.

And I love it.

********************

The winner of the Rudi’s Let’s Doodle Lunch giveaway is Kristen!  Congrats!  Please email me your address to peasandthankyou@hotmail.com and we’ll get your prizes on their way.

School is almost out for summer.

Gigi has a few more weeks and Lulu only has a few more days.

I’ve been looking forward to summer:  no lunches to pack, no homework to do, no praying to dear God that nothing forces me out of my car when I do the morning drop off in boxer shorts, crazy lady hair and bare feet.  So far so good.

Then, just when summer can’t get here fast enough, we have a day like today when I foolishly take Lulu bra shopping.

Holy smokes.

Drawers were opening left and right and 32 As through 46 Fs in pink leopard print, electric blue rhinestones and neon green lace were flying.

I’m pretty sure that saleslady never wants to have children now, and not because of my depressing cup size after having breastfed two kids.

(Goodbye, male readers.  Like my once ample bosom, It was nice having you around while you lasted.)

It was the perfect afternoon to give the girls an activity and to give you a giveaway.

I almost always make my own bread for lunches, but I also always keep a store-bought loaf in the freezer for emergencies.  Rudi’s Organic Bakery is one of the few brands that I feel really good about buying.  They use all organic, non-GMO ingredients, no high fructose corn syrup or trans fat.  They’ve also recently developed a gluten-free line as well that I’ve yet to track down but I’m excited to try.

Rudi’s is currently holding a Facebook promotion that is near and dear to my heart called “Let’s Doodle Lunch.”

Through the promotion, parents can join the Rudi’s Facebook community, upload their kid’s artwork, and get a FREE sandwich box with that art on top of the lid from now until June 30th.

The idea is to encourage healthy creativity, both on the sandwich box and inside.

The girls were totally into the idea of leaving their permanent mark on, well, anything that they can.

The true sign of razor-sharp focus is the sticking out of one’s tongue.

The true sign of pickle obsession is a pickle bandaid.  On an imaginary injury.

Once their designs, along with those done by other kiddos, are submitted, Rudi’s Facebook fans will have the chance to vote on their favorite design.  For each vote cast, Rudi’s will donate a $1 to The Lunch Box Project, a non-profit that is devoted to empowering schools to serve nutritious, whole foods to all students.

And to help you and your kids get started, Rudi’s is offering a really fun package to one lucky P&TY reader.

One winner from the comments below will receive:

• 1 art kit complete with paints, crayons, markers, etc., (note: we didn’t receive these art prizes for hosting this giveaway, but we do have this exact art kit and the girls love it!);
• 1 sketch pad for doodling;
• 1 black beret for creative inspiration;
• 1 reusable Rudi’s Organic bag; and,
• 2 free coupons good for any Rudi’s Organic product.

To enter, leave a comment below telling me your favorite sandwich combo.  (I do have another few weeks of lunches to pack, after all.)

Winners will be announced on May 18, 2012.  Good luck!

*Disclaimer: We got a few coupons for Rudi’s Organic products, but really I chose to participate so you guys could learn about the cool sandwich boxes and get the art kit!

It’s hot!

We’ve had record temps here in the Pacific Northwest for the last week.

You aren’t getting any complaints from me, though.

I dig walking to the gym instead of circling the parking lot in the rain for the closest spot to the door.  You know you do it too.

I dig pouring Pea Daddy the tiniest cup of coffee in the morning and the putting the rest in a jar in the fridge for a mid-afternoon iced coffee.  I need it more than he does.

I dig tank tops and exercising my right to bare arms.

I dig that The Bachelorette starts tonight and I’m over my self-imposed ban on trashy reality TV. (That has nothing to do with the heat or anything else relevant to this post, but is intended to inform Pea Daddy of my absolute control of  the TV between 9:30 and 11 p.m. tonight.)

You know what else I dig?

Eating banana splits for breakfast.

And I totally dig anything on a stick.

Banana Splits on a Stick

Inspired by this Pinterest find

Makes 6 pops

Print this recipe!

• 3 large bananas, cut in half
• 6 popsicle or lollipop sticks
• One 6 oz. container strawberry Greek yogurt*
• 1/4 c. chopped nuts
• 1/3 c. chocolate chips or chunks

*For a dairy-free option, try So Delicious Coconut Strawberry Greek Yogurt.  For an extra protein boost, stir in a tablespoon or so of your favorite vanilla protein powder.

Insert a stick in the center base of each banana half.

Using a mini-spatula or pastry brush, paint on yogurt.  Sprinkle on nuts and chocolate chunks or chips.

Transfer banana pops to a plate that has been lined with waxed paper and place plate in the freezer for 45 minutes or longer.

Remove and enjoy!

We love goodies like these that I can always say “yes” to.

Afterschool snack? Sure.

Dessert?  Help yourself.

Breakfast?  Don’t mind if I do.

And if you happen to be challenged in the front teeth department, there’s an easy solution for that.

Just slice, top and pop ‘em straight in.

If you got a problem, yo, I’ll solve it.

But not until after breakfast.

Even though Sunday won’t be my first Mother’s Day as a mother, it still feels very strange to me that there is a holiday that honors me for getting to experience the greatest blessings of my life.  For someone to give me a gift on top of that feels a bit silly.

That’s not to say that motherhood hasn’t had its difficult, gut-wrenching and even nauseating moments.

I can recall far too many ER visits in the past seven years.

An ill-timed blowout during my grandmother’s funeral.

The near daily exasperation from both girls’ inexplicable aversion to book jackets.  Every single book we own is naked.  And there are book jackets coming out of couch cushions, toy boxes and sock drawers.  I don’t get it.

But it’s better than being covered in poo during a eulogy.

No matter what kind of day we’ve had, whether we’ve lost teeth or just tempers, the girls and I have our nightly ritual that brings me right back to that spot I need to be as a mother.  A place of love, appreciation and silliness.  And it’s not just because I’m giddy that it’s bedtime and I’m guaranteed ten hours of peace.

My favorite part of our routine is after we’ve read our devotional, Gigi having explained effortlessly, with words that can only come from above, what the Bible verse we’ve read meant.  Meanwhile Lulu has done upside down “headstands” off the back of Gigi’s bed, her nightgown falling over her head and muffling her prayers.  Bless her.  Please.

I tuck them into their beds, their blankets up to their chins, a worn Lambie, ratty-haired Rapunzel and greying Blankie tucked under their arms.  Their freshly washed hair is splayed out on their pillows and I smell the sweet mingling of  shampoo and toothpaste.

A pair of little arms goes around my neck and a voice commands, “Eskimo kiss!”

We rub noses.

“Butterfly kiss!”

I flutter my eye against a small cheek.

“Real kiss!”

I press my lips against a small pair, a pair that presses back hard, in the hopes of capturing some gloss or lipstick.  Most nights I’m a disappointment in that regard, to daughters and husbands.

And then the final command:

“SNACK!”

We erupt into giggles, knowing there will be no snack, but amused by the nightly request nonetheless.

There’s a final “good night,” an “I love you,” and I turn out the light.  I glance back in the room as I shut the door, feeling grateful for the night light’s view of my sweet daughters burrowing in their covers, snug and most importantly, smiling.  They drift off feeling love and feeling loved.  As we all should.

Happy Mother’s Day, to my mom, and to all the other mothers out there.  May your day leave you feeling love and feeling loved.

And a snack wouldn’t hurt either.

There was a small casualty today.

It’s pretty much expected when I am trying too hard to do too much that something’s gotta give.

Something besides just trading out the color of headband I wore to the gym and considering that “getting ready.”  Or shaving with a squirt of Pea Daddy’s shaving cream and a dry razor.

Ouch.

I chaperoned Gigi’s field trip to the Oregon Garden today, but I was prepared.

I got up extra early to pack lunches, go to the gym, make breakfast and even get dinner started before we headed out.

Thanks for not pointing out that getting up fifteen minutes earlier would have meant time to make myself more presentable.  I knew I liked you for a reason.

The field trip was a success.

I made it home just in time to pack lunches for tomorrow.  To bandage my deep wound suffered from going off the trail to admire a coniferous tree.  To pop the lens back into the sunglasses I dropped on the asphalt (everyone gasped until I raised a hand and shouted, “Dollar Tree!  Dollar Tree!”).

I even found time to finish making dinner and photograph it to share with you, and then it was right back to the school to pick up Gigi.

And then I realized I what I forgot.

Pineapple.

Hey, at least it wasn’t a kid.

It’s a long drive back to the Oregon Garden.

And dinner’s ready.

Teriyaki Chickpea Stirfry

Serves 2-4

Print this recipe!

Teriyaki Marinade:

• 1/4 c. soy sauce, tamari or aminos
• 2 T. water
• 1/4 c. pineapple or orange juice
• 1 T. rice wine vinegar
• 1 T. maple syrup or honey
• 1 t. sesame oil
• 1 t. sesame seeds
• 1/2 t. minced ginger
• 1/2 t. minced garlic

• One 14 oz. can chickpeas, drained and rinsed
• 1 carrot, sliced
• 2 stalks celery, chopped
• 2 c. broccoli florets
• 1 c. pineapple tidbits (optional)
• 2-4 c. steamed rice
• 1/4 c. roasted peanuts, almonds or cashews

Prepare marinade by whisking together soy sauce, tamari or aminos, water, juice, vinegar, maple syrup or honey, sesame oil, sesame seeds, ginger and garlic.

Add chickpeas and allow to marinate for several hours or overnight.

Lightly coat a large skillet or wok with cooking spray or a spritz of oil and place over medium high heat.  Stir fry carrot, celery and broccoli until slightly tender and then add chickpeas and marinade to pan.  Continue to cook until sauce comes to a low boil.

Allow to cook for 8-10 minutes or until sauce is slightly reduced.

Add pineapple, if you remember, and cook for another minute.

Serve over hot rice and top with peanuts, almonds or cashews.

I know my family.

They will notice something is missing.

Funny, they don’t notice that I’m walking around with one lens in my sunglasses, a massive puncture wound in my leg or broccoli in my teeth.

Or at least if they do, they don’t say anything.

I knew I liked them for a reason.

Pea Daddy gave me a gift card, among other things, for my birthday.

With it, I bought a pair of really tight, electric pink pants.

I blame Pinterest, fashion blogs and my bolder, younger friends for their influence.

Funny how no one ever pins or posts pictures of five year-old saggy, faded jeans that you have to trim every few months when the strings along the hemline are fraying down into your $5 flip flops.  And that is why this will never be a fashion blog.

While for a usual date night, I’d trim my jeans, don my flip flops and we’d head out for Chipotle, something stirred me to be a little braver this year.

So last night I poured myself into my pants, put on two belts (one to keep them up and one for fashion’s sake) and we headed to Portland.

Toro Bravo is a highly renowned tapas restaurant in Northeast Portland that I’ve been eyeing for awhile.  It’s been visited by Mark Bittman of the New York Times and is well known for its flavorful, inventive dishes made with fresh, local and sustainable ingredients   And its sangria.

Pea Daddy offered to drop me off to line up while he found a parking spot.  I think he just didn’t want to be seen with my pants and hoped to dart into the restaurant after I’d already been seated.  In a dark corner.

Though we were seated immediately, this meal would have been worth the wait.

a) complimentary pumpkin seeds and peanuts (better than a bread basket);

b) sangria (x 2);

c) pickled vegetables and olives (we thought of Lulu amidst all the delicious, briny pickles);

d) artisan bread & olive oil (okay, so we ordered the bread basket) + groundwork’s greens with hazelnuts & asparagus (fresh and delicious);

e) potatoes bravas (which to my delight tasted like a gourmet version of supermarket deli fried potatoes with ranch);

f) churros with dipping chocolate (Pea Daddy wisely insisted on this).

I didn’t truly know it before last night, but I love tapas.

Little tastes of everything give you lots of freedom on your plate.  They give you room to explore.  To let go of inhibitions.  To release fears of committing to something you may or may not be able (or even want) to finish.

To discover you might just be a little braver than you thought.

As we strolled around Portland after dinner under a huge full moon, we saw people in lopsided sombreros that were getting more lopsided as the night went on.  In prom dresses with slits up to belly buttons.  In flannel shirts and tribal tattoos.  (Everything you see on Portlandia is 100% true.)

Suddenly my really tight, electric pink pants felt really conservative.  Maybe it was the adventurous meal or the sangria talking, but I made Pea Daddy avert his eyes as I ducked into a store.

And bought another pair of really tight pants in electric blue.

And a belt for keeping them up.

I like birthdays.

Last night I was in heaven as I sat on the couch in my free Alaskan Airlines t-shirt and washed out, grey boxer shorts with my recently pampered feet on the coffee table.  I’d just done the unthinkably torturous act of  rewinding and rewatching my favorite performances on Idol twice.  There was a slice of cake on my left, a slice of “can’t complain because it’s not his birthday” husband on my right.

It was then that I knew how hard today would be.

No “Happy Birthday” would play when I scanned my membership card at the gym.

No one would pretend to look the other way when I licked the syrup from my breakfast plate, used up all the hot water in the shower and pretended to lose my tweezers, razor and dental floss.

No one would immediately surrender when I reminded them, “Hey, it’s Mommy’s birthday” during a dispute over whose turn it was to play Angry Birds.  Seriously, it was my turn.

But I still have an inbox full of sweet messages from you, my tweezers are mysteriously still missing and there’s half of this in my fridge.

Thank you.

My heart has never been fuller, my eyebrows have never been hairier and seriously, carrot cake has never been this spectacular.

Spectacular Carrot Cake

Makes 1 9-inch cake

Print this recipe!

• 1 lb. of carrots, peeled and cut into 1-2 in. chunks
• 3 c. almond flour
• 1 1/2 t. baking soda
• 1 t. salt
• 2 t. cinnamon
• 1/2 t. nutmeg
• 1/4 t. ground ginger
• 1/3 c. maple syrup
• 1/4 c. olive oil
• 3 organic eggs or egg-replacer equivalent
• 2 t. vanilla extract

Cream Cheese Frosting:

• 1 c. organic or non-dairy cream cheese
• 1/4 c. organic butter or vegan margarine
• 1/4 c. maple syrup
• pinch of salt
• 1 t. vanilla extract

*This cake is gluten-free, grain-free and free of refined sugars.  Rather than modifying this recipe to use flour, you can find a more traditional carrot cake recipe here.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Grease two 9-in. cake pans and set aside.

Place carrots in a pot or in a microwave-safe bowl filled with about a 1/2 c. of water.  Steam carrots until soft, approximately 10 minutes.  Using a food processor or high speed blender, puree carrots, along with remaining cooking water, until completely smooth.  Set aside.

In a large bowl, combine almond flour, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger.

In a smaller bowl, beat together maple syrup, olive oil, egg or egg replacer and vanilla.

Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and combine.  Fold in pureed carrots.

Divide batter evenly between the two cake pans.

Bake for 28-32 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of each cake comes out clean.

Allow cakes to cool in pan for at least 30 minutes before carefully transferring to a cooling rack.

For frosting, beat together cream cheese, butter or margarine, maple syrup, salt and vanilla.  This recipe will yield enough to frost just the top and the middle of the cakes, so double it if you want to frost the sides too.

Or eat more than a spoonful.

Okay two.

Use half of the remaining frosting to frost the first layer of cake.

Top with the second cake.

And frost with remaining frosting.

I grated a little extra nutmeg on top because I love nutmeg more than any person should.

And because I love you more than any person should, I cut into my birthday cake at 10 a.m. to show you how great it is.

Only for you.

No other reason.

Some may frown upon eating cake for second breakfast.  Especially the day after your birthday.

Those are probably the same people who want you return to self-grooming, putting on clothing that you didn’t elicit while signing up for a credit card and only watching amateur karaoke performances once.

But I bet if you give them a slice of leftover birthday cake, they’ll get over it real fast.

At least, I hope so.

On Wednesday, I’ll be 34.

And since birthdays are all about indulgence, I hope you’ll forgive me if I indulge myself for a minute here.  I promise there’ll be cake in it for you later.  Just not the corner piece.  That’s mine.

Pea Daddy and the girls have been trying to get me to tell them what I want for my birthday, but it’s nothing they can wrap up and tape their homemade card to.

They can’t buy what I want.

I want to shamelessly wear even more pink.

I want the patience to wait with a smile for shoes to be tied on their own, even if it takes twice as long as doing it myself.

I want to walk to the park, even if it’s chilly and rainy and my hair will frizz and my nose will run.

I want to go out for ice cream.  I want to ruin my dinner.

I want to smile so big my eyes squinch up and if it gives me wrinkles.  I want more smile lines.

I want to read one more story, even if it’s late and I’m tired and hoarse from doing the voices.  I do the best grandma voices.

I want to continue to share my life here, without fear of judgment.

I want to continue to share my life here in a way that brings me joy and just maybe someone else too.

I want to concern myself less with myself and concern myself more with Truth.

I want to measure my success by how my husband, my daughters, that woman in the mirror and my Creator feel about  me.  And only by that.

Nothing.

Else.

Matters.

I want to love this beautiful life even more.

At 34.

At 64.

At 94.

And that is all I need.

Well, that and a homemade card.

And the piece of cake with the most frosting.

Thank you for reading.  Thank you for letting me share.

Thank you for helping me grow.