Lordy, Lordy, look who's 40, erm, 1.

My birthday. Was. Awesome.

First, I participated and promptly got my butt handed to me in Fight Gone Bad 5. Sucked huge air, “scored” less than I did the first time, but did push and pull and throw more weight AND jumped higher, so I guess that’s whatever that is. HOWEVER…because of my rockin’ family and friends, I raised mucho donation dollars for three great causes, and in fact raised 141% of my goal! It just leaves me verklempt.

Here are some pics of Hank doing his FGB5, and by the way, he beat his previous score without any throwing up. Majorly impressed. This first pic is in the first round; notice the hat. Not much sweat. Yet.

Resting after Round 1.

and…after Round 3. Lotta sweat.

I’ll post some more photos and give a proper blog dedication to that when I have time to go through the pics in more detail. Just keep your pants on about that one, peeps.

Next on the day’s agenda: HP’s first football game. He had insane amounts of fun.

But I have to add, some of those adults out there need to get a grip. These are five-year-olds playing for Pete’s sake. Criminey. You’d think they were at the Super Bowl or something.

Anyhoo.

After we came home from the game, I tried on two new pairs of jeans that Hank had given me for my birthday yesterday morning and I cried. Yes, that’s right. Hank bought me jeans. On his own. He just went out, held up jeans until he thought that they looked about the right size and length, and he bought them. Brought them home, wrapped them up, signed a card, and gave them right to me. And they are CUTE.

But. Butt. Ha.

But.

They were both two sizes smaller than I thought I wore.

They fit.

In June, they would not have fit.

In July, they would not have fit.

I’m not even sure if they would have fit in August.

But they do fit now. Perfectly. And I cried.

And at that point, I figured that I might should take a shower and try to look presentable for our big dinner out. Hank made a delish chocolate cake and invited about 18 of our closest friends out for a celebration of all things 41. And yes, I was older than EVERYONE at the dinner by at least four years, but neither my fabulous jeans nor I cared. Still don’t.