I celebrated my thirty-eighth birthday over the weekend (the 17th, in case you want to know) and true to birthday weekend form, it was pure bliss. (The hubds and I had drinks here, dinner here, and my boys further indulged my baseball fever by getting me this.)
My parents joined us for a little celebratory dinner on Sunday evening and before heading over to the restaurant, they came to our house bearing gifts for The Birthday Girl. Two presents were disguised in pink Hello Kitty wrapping papper, their cute way of remembering my childhood love and collection of All Things Sanrio. Also their cute way of reminding that I am always and forever their little girl.
The gifts were heavy. The boys watched me open them with great interest and oooh'd and ahhh'd when my new toys were revealed.
My parents did not disappoint.
Several years ago, I wrote an essay for the San Francisco Chronicle about being a contractor's daughter. If you dared to not believe it were true, behold my birthday gifts:
My new power drill.
My old drill broke and will no longer charge. The new one? It came with three...THREE...18 volt rechargeable batteries. First very delinquent project: New hooks in the boys' closets.
Also, good things in small, Hello Kitty-wrapped packages:
Yep, a pink, flowery sheetrock knife (you non-contractor's daughters may call them utility knives.)
Because a girl needs to be able to cut boxes (for recycling and, hello, box castles, spaceships and stuffed animal mansions and crafty moments) with a little cuteness.
Good things--and lots of home projects--are clearly in store for my new year ahead.
