Friday, April 13, 2012

Just my luck

I've never been so happy to see Friday the 13th in all my life. Yesterday was my 34th birthday, and it started with a clingy feverish toddler, a reaction to Wednesday's vaccines. Then Sukey twisted her front left leg on the morning walk. We were really busy at work that evening, and I didn't get out until late. As I was driving home I decided to stop for a yellow light instead of gunning it. I applied pressure to the brake, began slowing, and suddenly the pedal dropped straight to the floorboards. I sailed through the intersection as yellow turned to red. Robb had to wake Mo up to put her in the car to come rescue me. Truly a birthday for the record books: sick kid, limping dog, long shift, brake failure. Seriously, far as brake failure is concerned I was REALLY lucky that it happened when and where it did. And not when the light was already red (and thus launching me into the path of cars crossing the intersection) or in heavy traffic or on the Bay Bridge... It could have been so much worse. It makes me anxious thinking about it, so I'm changing the subject. Who wants to see some recent baby pictures????

Almost 15 months old portrait
Nana and Mo looking at each other's tongues
Mo in the tulips with Henley
Mo checks out her Easter dress
Smiling for the camera
Henley bunny and Mo

I have another busy day at the office tomorrow, while Robb takes Mo to her first swimming lesson. She's going to love it. I'm off to bed now. But I'll leave with a celebratory birthday poem in hopes that my lackluster birthday does not presage a year of doom and gloom.

"Proclamation at a Birth"
by Linda Pastan

Let every tree
burst into blossom
whatever the season.
Let the snow melt
mild as milk
and the new rain wash
the gutters clean
of last year's
Let the guns sweep out
their chambers
and the criminals doze
dreaming themselves
back to infancy.
Let the sailors throw
their crisp white caps
as high as they can
which like so many doves
will return to the ark
with lilacs.
Let the frogs turn
into princes,
the princes to frogs.
Let the madrigals,
let the musical croakings

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