My birthday present from my family included a Monet-garden-teapot and two lovely china teacups and saucers sprinkled with daisies reminiscent of Takashi Murakami’s smiling blooms. I opened it sitting on the floor of my study surrounded by debris of styrofoam, phone shouldered to my ear, listening to the baby make concentrated pooping noises. (The baby’s gift to me was the pleasure of listening to him make pooping noises, which I think is a rather magnificent offering considering he is only six months old and unemployed.)

My birthday present from Ross included — wait for it — a knobbly teapot from Chinatown, and one beautiful porcelain cup decorated with fishes. He also bought me a generous supply of Moroccan mint tea, to remind me of a very special dinner neither of us has forgotten.

I don’t get it — does everyone think I’m stressed out, and need soothing, or something?

I love the duplicated gifts, though.
a) They tell me there must have been a telepathic connection between the people I love most in the world.
b) Now we have one tea set for the house, and I have a personal tea set for my cubicling cubicle!

Other assorted blessings of the day: My ID card finally working to open the doors at work (access to the inner sanctum!), a wonderful Japanese postcard-card from Sarah, a musical phone message from Jo, a non-musical phone message from Kubhaer (who I am quite sure has no idea when my birthday is, so it was doubly nice to hear from him), and an email from the prodigal Kristin.

Oh — and the best birthday present of all, something I consider a gift from the universe itself: this email in my inbox when I got home from work today.

Subject: googlewhack, not.
From: Awesome Stranger
Date: Feb 1, 2005

Hi Goddessparkle, I’ve been reading Dave Gorman’s googlewhack adventure, and decided to look up a couple of words. Just one website — yours — for the words snazzy and moulted. However, the website, googlewhack. com is not accepting this as a googlewhack, something to do with the word snazzy.

Best wishes, Name Withheld In Case She’s Shy Like That

I am, of course, dismayed that I will not be immortalized on googlewhack.com in association with the words “snazzy” and “moulted” — but this is still the greatest email I have received in a long time. Thank you, Almost The Heroine of Gone With The Wind!

*******

Two days ago, Asher rolled off the bed. He is perfectly all right, thank you for asking. All of the following were direct results of this event:

1) The baby is more loving, feeds better, and has a large, sympathy inducing bump on his head. At home we would call it a “balukoo”.

2) My brother in law (who was left in charge of He-Who-Does-Not-Yet-Understand-The-Concept-Of-Gravity while my sister went to dispose of a diaper) is, at the moment, looking quite mournfully out at the world through the doghouse window. (Sorry, Gabe. For what it’s worth, I don’t think you ought to feel too guilty. See #3.)

3) Suddenly, all my sister’s friends and relatives had a story for her about how their babies fell off the bed (Once! Twice! Every other week!) when they were little. Now, I’m wondering, “Did I fall off the bed when I was a baby? How many times? No wonder my head is dented in the back!”

(It isn’t really. Well, not much.)

Here’s to a drama-free year for this old lady.

*balukoo /bah-luu-kuu, bAùÈlUùkUù/ n. [poss. f. Mal. buah duku: buah fruit + Duku, f. the similarity between a bruise or haematoma and the fruit, or meluku rap the head (as when punishing a child)]  Swelling caused by blow; bruise, haematoma.
2000 Kelvin Tong The Straits Times (Life! This Weekend), 28 December, 8: “100th balukoo but still standing.”