As a Very Important "Beauty Insider" member at Sephora (translation: HA HA, WE GOT YOU TO SIGN UP FOR A CARD JUST FOR FREE SAMPLES, SUCKER), I am apparently entitled to a birthday gift every year. Provided I make a purchase during my birthday month. And remember to present that stupid card.
Anyway, my gift was a small bottle of shower gel. It's glittery and sparkly and smells like cupcakes. Thanks, Sephora! How did you know I was turning 12 this year? My mom says I can wear the tinted kind of Chapstick now too!
(I guess I should be grateful that they DON'T customize the birthday gift too much, since if they were to base it off my recent purchases I'd probably get an anti-wrinkle cream that smells like lemon verbena. And desperation.)
(Oh, and I'm 31 now. Everyone kept telling me that 31 would hit me harder than 30, but it didn't. I guess there's something about having TWO CHILDREN that makes you already feel older than dirt, what with how terriblly haggard you look next to their chubby smooth perfection [seriously, if you ever want to feel REALLY BADLY about yourself, press your face against an infant's and look in a mirror], and I'm possibly a little senile because I swore I was turning 32 this year and had to use a calculator to check the math. 31? Is that all? Wow, I'm going downhill faster than I thought, but I guess you might as well get a head start on these things.)
And now, a couple holiday-ish pictures, as required by law.
Noah, looking especially dashing in his holiday sweater, if perhaps a little baffled by the whole affair. He caught on after awhile, and will now randomly announce that he is ready to open another present now, thank you.
Ez, in one of the rare photos where he is actually wearing clothes. Everybody seemed to prefer him in nothing but a diaper. In our white trash defence, the turkey DID take a lot longer to cook than anticipated, and his thighs make for some awfully good chomping.