HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

After two super renditions of Happy Birthday -- one from Amy & the kiddos (complete with lots of hugs and kisses and bags and bags of goodies) --  and then a cha-cha-cha version from the kids' entire kindergarten class, I spent the morning at a wonderful spa in Los Gatos with a friend getting totally pampered.

Then...shortly after dressing to head out to lunch I felt a little headache coming on.

Must've been that I skipped my chai, I thought.  [I know, on my birthday even.  What was I thinking?]  Will just double-dose on diet coke at lunch and all will be right with the world again.

Yeah. Nuh-uh.  Turns out, all those fugitive toxins and all that steam and heat do not a happy Jo Anna make.  So, one long trip to the bathroom later and we were out the door and on our way home with me fully reclined in the minivan with the window rolled all the way down feeling exactly like that scene in MI3 just before (we hoped) Tom's head was about to explode from that nostril implant.

And then, in what is still a hazy memory to me (and despite my friend's best efforts to make me stay), I somehow made it home, made dinner, popped in a movie, plopped myself on the sofa, and melted into oblivion. 

Kids, of course, were heathens.  Trying their best to keep each other quiet by yelling at the top of their lungs, "SHHHHH!!  MAMA'S NOT FEELING WELL!!  STOP YELLING AT ME!!!"  Tromp, tromp, tromp, up and down the stairs went the elephant brigade.  SLAM! goes one door.  SLAM! SLAM! goes another.  Or was it two? I couldn't tell.

I vaguely remember being utterly shocked that Chago was my brave little soldier [in between the bouts of mischievous bratdom]. Comforting me and patting me on the back as I got sick for the 20th time. Bringing me water and even covering me up with a blanket now and then. 

While Saia, who I always thought for sure would be our tough cookie in crisis, just totally caved in on me and simply could not function. And I tried as best I could to let her know that I was alright, that it was going to go away soon, and that all I needed was some rest, but she just kept on crying (and looking at herself in the mirror as she did so), and then thought it was most important to tell me that she thought she had a headache, too.  Oh, baby, so not the best time to try to be like Mama.  Come on, chickie, suck it up!

And then at some point, and taking total advantage of my incapacitation now, I heard one of them say (couldn't tell which) from what seemed like far far away through the fog in my brain and from under the pillow I'd wrapped tightly over my ears, "Ha, ha, and now you can't even call Mama for help!"  And I could only pray the injuries would be minor.

Six hours later I realized Amy had come home and put the kids down, stripped me of my accoutrements and put me to bed, and by 10pm I was wide awake and starving.

Brain bruised and sore, but body and face emitting a fabulous glow. Thankyouverymuch.

Must now console myself with gifts and wine.