Birthday weeks

The plural on that title is meant to indicate many weeks, not multiple birthdays. I give myself a lot of guilt over not doing something productive at every moment, but not these weeks. I've been giving myself license to take time to myself. Not often enough on the days I have A, it seems, because I'm feeling like she pushes all my buttons to see how many things she can do that are on the "no fly list" at home, and I get pissed off when "no" and "stop" and "come here" have no effect whatsoever on her. And we are trying to get her pacifier-free. And that is working and not working and then working again. Then it decides a little more not working is in order.

But today was glorious so far. I had coffee for breakfast and then extra coffee. I took time to sit on the couch and knit a ridiculous beret pattern that calls for this nasty little stitch called a Make, every 3 stitches. It is not fun, it requires paying attention, and means I can only get caught up on my NPR listening at best. Which is not really something I aspire to do most of the time anyway. I'm a mindless knitter. I don't like fancy patterns or many colors that I need to keep track of. I like simple, repetitive patterns that just need some initial investment and then kind of knit themselves. The simplest beret, however, is not one of these.

Anyway, I spent enough time knitting it that I could actually put it down, and more importantly, away for now, because I realized I wasn't going to like working on it come round two of having to Make 1 on top of previously made ones.

Then I did a little bit of work e-mail and editing, took a shower, had some more coffee, bit the head off the dark chocolate Lindt Easter bunny I have hidden in the pantry, and admired my new haircut in the mirror. I followed that up with some yogurt eating, some online window shopping (wherein I browse clothing and shoe sites, putting many things in my online cart, only to click away to another site, and come back maybe days later...I don't actually buy that much in the end, but I virtually try a lot of things on). I then thought about going into town to actually try things on if I was in such a shopping mood and decided to let myself off that hook, too. And just read. To sweep the balcony, to pull the porch sofa closer to the bedroom window so I could hear the radio, and to put my feet up and read. For however long I wanted.

Eventually, the cleaning lady came, and after a chat, and the rounding up of shoes that have been long overdue for a trip to the cobbler (people use cobbler here...often), I headed down to town, then up to campus. I dropped off some things in my office, checked my work email, and headed out again to one of the cafes up here. To read again. Once I was done drinking my tea, I walked across the street, got some chocolate at the campus grocery store, walked over to the outdoor seating at the other campus cafe and sat down to read again.

It is glorious. Especially since it involves a new-to-me author, Anne Lamott's first book about being a single mom and her son's first year, and she had a rough time and it doesn't make me feel bad about my own first year. I'm reading it to get ready to read the book she and her now 19-year-old son just wrote about his just becoming a dad. And I'm not feeling at all guilty.

Happy birthday to me.