Happy Birthday, Mumsy!

I'm an idiot. I didn't call my mom on her birthday. I am seven kinds of idiot. More than that. I'm an amoeba on fleas on rats. (Name that musical!)

A sign you've been working too much: When you can't even find the time to call your mother on her birthday. Maybe it's time to reevaluate my life. Of course, being an hour behind doesn't help, either.

Well, I have several birthdays that I'll be making up for when I'm back in California next week, so it's not like it's out of my way. I hope Dad took her out for Chinese food or something. I sure do miss Chinese food. There isn't any real good Chinese food here in the Mat-Su Valley. You have to go to Anchorage for that, and I'm not driving an hour just to go out for Chinese.

Maybe I could smuggle some in checked baggage on my way back to Alaska for Logan to have. I'm sure Dad would approve, especially if I had it under my pillow.

No, I'm not explaining that one. There is no explanation.