Happy birthday to me.
If this day is any indicator, thirty five is going to suck. I refuse to have any more birthdays until the prime minister introduces a bill banning bad behavior by children and husbands on special occasions. Oh, and the right to vote and get some representation with my taxation would be nice. Thanks, guys in suits.
Seriously, the badness started two seconds after my alarm went off this morning. Really. Me Too immediately began to whine, as per her custom, that she didn’t want me to get out of bed. It started off as a whine and quickly turned into a siren of sorts. I was hoping that today of all days perhaps beloved husband would get the f out of bed and make his own d breakfast, but alas, that was not to be.
Somehow it just doesn’t taste very good when I’ve been cooking while a child screams and has a fit in the other room. Silly, isn’t it?
Hubby forgot my birthday. Forgivable offense, really. With all the commotion of Girls Day, it’s really my own fault for being born at such an inconvenient time. Though Mom claims that was more of the doctor’s doing than either me or her.
So, back on track, where was I….Ah, yes, forgivable offense. Forgetting birthday, forgivable. Being reminded by four-year-old-daughter, pretending to remember and then cramming a candle in an orange?
Wrong. For so many reasons.
It’s raining and bitter cold today, so getting the kids off to school was a hassle. Me First refused to get ready, and set about doing a paper craft instead of preparing for his compulsory education. I’d promised myself to turn over a new leaf starting today, yell less, you know, the usual. So I set his clothes out in front of him with a clock on top of them. At 7:55 he finally starts moving.
Surely he was late for school.
Me Too decided at nine she would lower herself to eating the breakfast I’d prepared for her hours earlier. At this point, my Mom decides to call. I have fifteen minutes to get Me Too ready for school, not to mention myself, so I tell Mom I’ll call back later. To which she replies,
“I want to talk to you NOW.”
That was awkward.
Needles to say, Me Too was ALSO late for school.
We’ve now consumed the obligatory birthday cake, complete with a three-shaped candle and a five candle. The kids were much more lively singers with an actual cake versus an orange. Go figure. Cute moment until they starting fighting over who would eat the chocolate name plate.
Me Too is riding about the house on her broom. Glad to know she’s taking after me more these days. Me First is arguing with me about homework. He has one of those annoying worksheets where he has to choose which is correct: おねえさん vs おねいさん type problems. Which means I have to keep getting out my cell phone to check because I don’t know either.
But such is life as a gaijin mom in the Hama.
So, things I’d like to do in my thirty fifth year:
write that book
clean the Chamber of Secrets in the back of the house
work more with the kids on their English reading/writing
world peace, personal fulfillment, and all the rest of that stuff
Along with some other stuff I have absolutely no control over
And that’s about it.
If last night’s TV is any indication, this whole week is going to be absorbed in earthquake remembrance. I don’t want to remember, dammit. I’ve been trying very hard to forget so I can get on with the rest of my life and be a responsible cog in the gears of society. But that post is imminent, I know, just give me some time to prepare.
Just give us all some more time.