Smack-dab in the middle of breaking all the rules

Rule #1: Do not post another blog entry unless it’s to kiss the beautiful feet of all your supportive blog friends and to deliver the good news that the book is spit-shined to perfection and ready to take professional portraits, the black and white kind where you tilt your head slightly to the left and get the look… you know the look…the pensive one where you’re pretending that your mind is a million miles away when you’re mind is ACTUALLY very busy thinking: “I hope I’m not shiny. I hope I’m not shiny.” Although I must say, I want this novel to be very, VERY shiny.

Rule #2: Do not stay up past 10:00. OR… Do not have PROOF that you stayed up past 10:00. Lest husband fails to sympathize with all the vagueness and irritability come morning.

Rule #3: Do not eat the five-day-old pie as you sit and type past 10:00. Nothing good can come of it.

Rule #4: Cut with the lists already. And, by the way, adding the word RULE in front of the number doesn’t make it any less of a list.

And Rule #5: If you MUST blog, then blog about the children. Blog about writing. Blog about The Life and Times of CATHERINE. But don’t blog SPECIFICALLY about your husband. Why? Because he’s a smidgen on the private side. And he reads this thing fairly regularly. And he might say things like, “Dude. You make me sound like an asshole. Or wimpish. Or just plain ol’ drunk.”

But I’ve got good reason for breaking the rules. (As of late, it seems to be the ONLY reason I post.) And here it is: To say HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! I realize I’m a day early, Allan, but this way maybe you’ll read this with your coffee before I even wake up, and I will have officially been the first one to wish you a happy birthday. Besides, I'm gonna be all vague and irritable in the morning. And, God forbid, I forget to actually SAY it.

I think it’s kinda fitting that some jerk is out firing rockets and other pyrotechnics tonight. It’s fitting because you, Sweetie, light up my life. It's true. And I’ll just stop here because there is nothing I can say without diving headfirst into a pool of sticky, sappy cliché. Everything that wants to come pouring out the ends of my fingers will paralyze you with embarrassment and give you a case of the qualms over your decision to marry someone so schmaltzy.

So let me just take this opportunity to say that I have NO really cool gifts up my sleeve. No cakes where a woman pops out will be laid upon your desk (at least not from me). No all-expense-paid skiing trips, either. Just a happy birthday blog post, to my favorite bearded guy. My favorite dinner partner. My favorite smart ass. I probably could’ve just stopped at MY FAVORITE.

And, who knows, maybe there’s a back rub waiting for you later.