Eleven years ago our older daughter was born. She is exactly twenty-six years, two hours and six minutes younger than I am and is the most difficult birthday present I've ever had to unwrap. I quit thinking of January 29th as "my day" eleven years ago and ever since have spent it draping pink crepe paper across the curtain rods and hanging pink balloons from the ceiling for our very girly girl.
She's growing up, as I'm reminded everytime she rests her chin on my shoulder instead of tucking her head under my arm, and this year she wanted us to plan the day together. So in a few minutes we are all taking off to see A Series of Unfortunate Events (her pick), then return home for a lasagne dinner (my pick) followed by blueberry and cherry cobbler (unanimous pick). And we're hanging purple crepe paper and balloons with the pink.
Later tonight after the house is quiet, I'll sit up, ponder the past year and consider the next one. But for now--we celebrate!!!!