Tomorrow is my birthday. It’s not a particularly momentous one. Just another one of those mid-thirties kind of years. But even so, I’d like for there to be presents. And maybe even a cake (which I’m pretty sure there will be). But there are things on my wish list I’m pretty sure I won’t be getting. Things like:
An unblocked brain. I have complete and total writer’s block. If something doesn’t shift soon, my brain might turn into stone.
A chocolate peanut butter cake with all of the yumminess and none of the calories. What could be better than a chocolate peanut butter ice cream cake? One that doesn’t go directly to my hips. Would someone hurry up and invent that?
A transporter that opens directly onto the beach of a Caribbean island. I don’t have enough vacation time to actually fly to the Caribbean. But I sure would like to go for the afternoon.
A store full of jeans that all make my butt look great. I want to be able to walk into a store, pluck a pair of jeans off the rack and know that they’ll look fabulous. Every. Time.
A winter full of 70-degree days. This weather we’re having? It’s perfect. Warm enough to run around outside for hours at an end. Chilly enough to pull the sweaters out of the closet. It sure would be nice if it could just keep going like this straight on through spring.
A checking account that never runs out of cash. This budgeting thing is for the birds. I wish my checking account was self-replenishing, so no matter how much I spent, there would still be a couple thousand left on the balance sheet.
A year of daily maid service. Ever notice how fast things get messy? My house goes from clean to trash heap in 2.3 seconds. Wouldn’t it be nice if there was someone on hand to keep that from happening?
A year free from coughing. I haven’t been totally healthy for more than a few weeks since the moment Tori went to daycare. I’m a bit tired of it. It’d be awesome if someone could find me a better immune system or something.
A full array of Supermom super powers. I’d like to have the energy of a toddler on a sugar high, the focus of a college student on Ritalin and the body of a super model. That’s not asking too much, is it?
So that’s what I wish I was getting. But instead, I think I’ll get “Happy Birfday” sung to me by a toddler, a hairball puked up by a kitty cat, and a yummy dinner cooked by my husband.
And you know what? I am 100 percent okay with that.