Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Does Anyone Even Remember Edith Ann?

An ode to my personal barista:

Mike used to be off caffeine. It was kind of a bummer. But the lack of sleep that snuck in through the door when we left it open for baby turned him back to the good stuff, and how. Over the summer we used to go out for iced coffee every day, but we realized that if we didn't slow our roll we were going to be broke as well as bigtime carbon footprint offenders from going through all that plastic. So we started using our home coffee pot all the time. My husband has become quite the connoisseur, and his freshly ground, free-trade morning coffee is often the second best thing about my day. This morning there was a bit of a malfunction, so I took the opportunity to pop into Starbucks on my way into work to fulfill my the red cup/gingerbread latte jones I get this time of year. I finally figured out that if get the smallest size and ask for half the syrup, I don't have buyer's remorse. It worked, it was a great cup and I wasn't feeling ralphy by the end. But I still missed my Mikey brew, particularly when I got change for a fiver in jingle-money but no crinkle money. $4.12 for a tall latte? Is that the going rate? I'm not a cheap person, I'm happy to pay for quality, but jinkies! I had no idea. It was a nice treat, but the home cafe is ever more appreciated.

So. This is my last day as a 35-year-old. Tomorrow when I wake up I'll be 36, officially closer to 40 than to 30, and there's no getting around that. Not that I really want to, I mean, aging doesn't scare me. I just never got the hang of saying I was 35. Now I guess I don't have to worry about it. (Un)interesting factoid: on my next birthday I'll officially have lived in the Boston area for half my life.

I've come and gone with the way I prefer to observe my birthday, from weekend-long extravaganzas to a quiet dinner at home with Mike. I've found that I tend to get a little hive-y when I'm the center of attention, and frankly I enjoy other people's birthdays more than my own. So this year all I want is to have a drink with Mike when he gets home from work. I was thinking about checking out a neighborhood yoga class on Friday as a way to start off my new year, but I'll be working from home and I'd rather take the time away from that to have lunch out with my men and possibly some friends. As a postponed bit of celebration, we're also going to take advantage of family coming in for the holiday and Mike and I will have an extended movie-and-dinner date on the day after Thanksgiving. I chose Harry Potter of course because what else do extreme weinerdawgs always choose?

All in all that sounds just perfect to me. Maybe the junior weinerdawg (weinerpup?) will get in on the "celebrate mama" theme and sleep through the night for serious. But let's be realistic, now. He's really doing so, so much better and I can't complain. Even if the all-night slumber eludes us forever, just having him in my life is the world's best birthday present times infinity.

And that's the truth. Ptttthhhbt. (I would love to link an Edith Ann clip here but she creeps Mike out and I can't very well laud and alienate him in the same entry. Can I?)

1 comment:

  1. Leading the charge and wishing you the best, happiest of birthdays! 36 IS a good'un. The year to truly dispense with the goofy unrealistic expectations of youth and the beginning of the deep appreciation of you managed to become when you weren't looking. ~LA