Where have I been? Well, I'll tell you where I've been.

It's my birthday.

Not really, but join me on the imagination express as we take a ride back to December 14, 2011.  Enjoy the seats. They're plush. And leather. And they're also made out of clouds. And then they're made out of whatever you want. It's the imagination express! We spare no expense. Accept in gas. That stuff's free.

I worked 8 hours on my birthday. Not complaining, I had an awesome job. But I distinctly remember being told I was incorrect about that specific day being the anniversary of my birth. By a two-and-a-half year old. The story goes like this:

I was probably busy being mean. Something like putting Savannah in time out for stealing a toy from Braden or something of that severity. Usually she sits there... Yells a bit... Then when she calms down, I say,

"Do you know why you're in time out?"

Usually she just says, "Memmeretinnibibble." To which I reply,

"Yes."

Then she gets up and all is right with the world. Not this time though. This time, she said she was scared of me, and then stuck her nose in the corner. Usually, I don't enjoy being mean to small children. This was no exception. So I tried to be funny and ask her to come play some games.

"Savannah, come on! Let's go play games, it's my birthday!"

"No, it's not." She says, very matter-o-fact like.

You can imagine my shock.

For twenty years, I had been celebrating my birthday on December 14. Nobody had ever brought to my attention that I was indeed mistaken in doing so. Not until now. How did I tell my husband? Had he, perhaps, been correct in thinking my birthday was on the fifteenth until we were married? I couldn't face that humiliation. Not after I'd given him so much grief about not knowing my birthday. It'd just be to much.

Hours passed by, and I got in the car to go home with Chad. I told him about my day and all the funny things the children did, the whole time being trouble with this new development in the change of my birth date.  He laughed graciously. And then we get home.

I walked in the door to this:

Cake. Martinelli's. Long stemmed glasses. Love notes. Clean house.


Yeah. He doesn't have to know.