Steve flew to Denver this past weekend for his Great Aunt's 90th birthday. He picked up his mom and brother in Denver and then they drove four hours (each way) to a farm town in Nebraska, where most of their extended family still lives. So I hung out at home with the dogs and watched chick flicks like "Baby Boom" and "Twilight" and cheated on my diet by eating pizza and making chocolate chip cookies. I also treated myself to a pedicure and haircut - here's a pic of the new "do":
Steve's mom sent him home with all sort of Avon goodies for me including several pairs of slippers (the hardwood floors in our house are cold!) and all sorts of new makeup and fragrance samples to try. Steve brought me a couple of "gifts". First of all, he brought me rolls from Texas Roadhouse (oh how I miss TR!), complete with cinnamon butter which he snuck into his carry-on. He also brought an adorable ladybug hat for Lia (complete with a daisy - my fave flower!):

Anyway - back to the topic at hand - my birthday. I was a bit dismayed to receive a direct mail letter (addressed specifically to me) from a cremation service yesterday. Seriously? I'm not planning my demise yet... I believe people are only as old as they feel - and I still feel 26. I'm certainly not thrilled with the number this year, but not in a "boo hoo I'm getting older" way - just in terms of the actual number being so odd. 39 just sort of seems like hanging onto the edge of a cliff before tumbling over into the 40s. I'm actually looking forward to my 40s. Lots of good stuff ahead (and lots of even numbers!)


Earlier in the day, she and 















