{...a breezy life} at briemarisa.com

Before I get started, can we all just take a second to swoon over the magic that is Simon and Garfunkel? Really. The wordsmith that Paul is? That magical, lilting voice of Art's? If you've been here before you've noticed my habit of using song lyrics in all of my posts and, more often then not, there's a Simon and Garfunkel lyric that speaks right to what I'm feeling that day.

At any rate, we are all older then we once were, but I am especially as I turned 35 yesterday. Gah. Thirty-freakin'-five. That seems to be the age where you're supposed to start being serious about battling crows feet and for the love of GOD don't have a baby because your eggs are dried up and it'll have eight heads!

Ahem. That might be a bit dramatic. But still...

Thankfully, this new season opened it's blooms with much less turmoil then all of that. In fact, my week has been full of the kind of kindness and love that I couldn't have built up to at 16 or 21. In typical Me fashion, I spent so much time dreading what 35 would bring that I forgot what 35 already gave me. I'm such an ass.

As it happened, the week has been wonderful (Flyers losses aside. Boo.)! A few weeks ago, this happened when I tried to take PJ to get a haircut. At the time, it was very hard on me, and I hadn't been able to screw up the courage to try for another haircut. In the meantime, PJ looked like a very blonde, silky Cousin It. So, my dear friend Michelle offered to cut it for me. She cuts her own handsome son Ezra's hair and was willing to brave PJ's possibly insane behavior. I was nervous he would claw her eyes out, and she was nervous I would hate his hair! Still, we faced our fears and set a play date/shear date and when I arrived, Michelle had baked birthday cupcakes with a Flyers there and made a delicious lunch to celebrate my impending 35-hood!

Handsome before...

After our bellies were full, we sat PJ down and dove in. And, you know. He cried. Angry, sob-y, boogie- and despair-filled cried. And perhaps because she already has three kids, or because I had warned her beforehand that it might get ugly, it didn't phase Michelle. She didn't look at him like he was possessed or make cutting comments. I held PJ's hands still and Michelle steadfastly plowed through his insane amount of hair and soon enough, my Best Boy had a superduperhandsomedude haircut! And seriously. I mean handsome.

Handsome after! Making his "cheese" face!

I couldn't express it at the time because A. we were in the midst of trying to clean ALL OF THAT HAIR off the floor (Seriously. So. Much. Hair.) and B. I would have started to cry like a lunatic. It was the willingness to help me out, when I couldn't face stares or comments about PJ's behavior (which, in retrospect, was not all that bad. Pete's mom told me she had to let his hair grow out at one point because he was such a flaming pain in the ass as a kid when it came to haircuts, and nobody put him on the spectrum). It was, simply, kind. It was kind and I was...am thankful. I don't even have the words for it.

So, I may have to start worrying about crows feet and dry eggs, and yes, I may have to worry about people not understanding PJ and having something nasty to say about it. I never have to worry that we all won't have amazing, loving, understanding friends and family around us, who will love my wrinkled eyes and my extraordinary Boy.

Happy Birthday to me!