Tragic Sandwich

Last night, after a day of not napping, Baguette fought sleep like a tiger. I think she finally surrendered at something like 11 p.m. I have no idea what that was about, but now I’m tired. Really, really tired. Which was not my plan.

Today is my birthday. I’m finding each decade better than the last, although my 30s were pretty much a decade of increasing awesomeness, and my 40s have so far been a bit more up and down. Still much better than my 20s, though, so I am not complaining.

Once upon a time, I became famous (among my friends) for inventing the birthday tradition of Ice Cream Dinner. I think that’s pretty self-explanatory. But I drifted away from that and developed new traditions. Here’s what I usually like to do for my birthday these days:

• Do something I’ve never done before.
• Eat somewhere I’ve never eaten before (note: I am more likely to choose a dive than Ruth’s Chris, and not just because I’ve already eaten at Ruth’s Chris)
• Get together with two of my closest friends, who have birthdays within a few weeks of mine.

I’ve got #3 set, but I have no idea about #1 or #2. Primarily because here’s what I really want to do for my birthday this year:

• Sleep.

Like the decade, the day itself has had its ups and downs. The low point was finding out that the mother of one of my oldest friends passed away (support the American Cancer Society). I’ve known them both since the second grade, and even though we were across the country and I haven’t seen either my friend or her mother in years, this makes me sad.

The ups, though, are definitely there. Before I even got out of bed this morning, Baguette woke up, looked at me, and said, “Mommy!” Then she climbed on top of me and said, “Mommymommymommymommymommy” for about two minutes.

And later, Mr. Sandwich brought me these flowers:

Hmm. Maybe I should have some ice cream. And, if I’m really lucky, some sleep.