So, someone posted on FaceBook, “I hear you turned 15! Who said dyslexia is all bad?”
I love that guy.
Yes, it twas my birthday, and I’d planned to have a regular day, followed by a nice dinner at Tahoe Joes w/Mate.
Except Mate got sick. Like, he’s falling asleep now after his two hour nap sick. And suddenly, all the regular day things– walk the dogs, pick up Big T, go grocery shopping, drop stuff off at the Goodwill, cook dinner for the kids–became… well, sort of sad.
Except Big T cooked the pizza while I napped, and then served me pizza while I sat and watched a favorite movie, and then, just when I was thinking, “Oh, crap, I need to take him home,” Chicken showed up. He’d texted her while I was napping, and said, “Let’s not make Mom and Dad take me home–it’ll be a birthday present.”
And my stepmom called, and so did my stepbrother, and real-mom sent a card and of course, Mate got the pet door…
And the kids did the dishes and cleaned the bathroom.
And it’s funny, how even the smallest shit can be huge when you’re fifteen.
It’s been a good birthday.
I’ll make it to steak dinner eventually. Hopefully Mate feels better tomorrow for HIS birthday.
Hopefully we can do enough small things to make 15 feel like a much grander number.